


The Fire and the Flood

by masulevin



Series: Self-Indulgence AU [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied Female Lavellan/Solas, Lyrium Withdrawal, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:43:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 40,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8743147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masulevin/pseuds/masulevin
Summary: Rose Wedgwood is a storm mage who became a spirit healer after living through the fall of Ferelden's Circle tower during the Blight. When the Circle falls a second time during the mage rebellion, she joins the Inquisition at Haven instead of fighting with the rebels.What she didn't know is that a certain Knight-Captain who survived Kinloch Hold with her is also working for the Inquisition.





	1. POV: Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Rose Wedgwood is the star of my [self indulgence AU](http://ma-sulevin.tumblr.com/rose-wedgwood/) over on Tumblr. Decided to start posting the chapters here as well so that it's easier for some of my followers to get the updates.
> 
> Sophie Amell is the Hero of Ferelden and Alistair is the king. Background Female Lavellan/Solas.
> 
> Currently updating once per day.

“I was told a new mage had joined us.” She glances up from where she’s elbows-deep in a cauldron, sweat sticking her hair to her face and bubbles sticking to her nose, mouth dropping slightly open at the sonorous voice.

An elf is standing in the doorway to the apothecary’s cabin, his hands clasped behind his back, toes bare to the snow. Her cheeks immediately begin to burn, and she pushes the cauldron away, giving her freedom to wipe her hands and face on her apron.

“My name is Rose.”

The elf smiles softly. “I am Solas. You are–” he hesitates, and Rose feels the familiar pull of the Fade around her as Solas’ aura expands into hers. She stiffens, but allows the intrusion for the moment it lasts. “A spirit healer, as they said.”

She clears her throat and stands up, rolling her sleeves down from where she’d pushed them above her elbows. “I am.” She clasps her hands in front of her, then changes her mind and mimics Solas’ pose. “Do you… need healing?”

Solas shakes his head. “Not today, thankfully. I would be interested in learning how one from a Circle learned such a rare talent. If you are not too busy…” he takes a step back from the door, gesturing out into the afternoon light with one hand.

Rose studies him for a moment, then glances down at the half-cleaned cauldron, then nods. “I could use a break.” She pulls her apron off and drops it onto her chair before brushing past Solas out into the sun.

She pauses, shading her eyes with one hand, waiting to see where Solas wants to speak. He moves silently, even as her boots crunch through the snow, down the steps past the tavern and out through Haven’s gates. She follows him to the edge of the training yard, where he stops and turns to face the soldiers.

“How did you come to join the Inquisition?” Solas asks, voice surprising Rose all over again.

She blinks at him, then grins as she asks, “Do you mean ‘why am I not with the rebels’?”

Solas nods with a breathy laugh.

“I did go to Redcliffe, but I’m not a fighter. I lived near the crossroads by myself until I heard about the Inquisition, then I asked one of the scouts how I could join. And so here I am.”

“Here you are,” Solas agrees, not turning to look at her. “I was led to believe you did not identify as an apostate until you had already arrived in Haven.”

Rose coughed lightly and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I didn’t want to be seen as an apostate outside of Redcliffe. The templars…” she lets her voice trail off as a shiver unrelated to the cold runs through her. “Anyway. I hid my staff and was living without magic when I heard about the Inquisition. I thought it would be better to make sure I was safe before I started letting people know I’m a mage.”

Silence falls between them for a few moments as they watch the soldiers train. Across the yard, a flash of blood-red fabric catches Rose’s eyes, and she squints, trying to force her eyes to focus on what it is.

“How did a Circle mage learn to be a spirit healer?” Solas asks, returning to his original question. “I was under the impression that Circles didn’t like mages dealing with spirits at all.”

“They don’t.” Rose crosses her arms over her chest, standing up a little straighter. She lets the conversation fall, refusing to say anything else until she knows what this other apostate wants. He’s obviously an elf, but not Dalish, so she isn’t sure where he was trained or what his feelings on spirits and spirit healing are.

She’s good at waiting.

Solas is as well, and he lets the silence grow until he hears her shuffle on her feet again before speaking. “I understand that you want to protect yourself,” he says, voice low. “You are in no danger from me.”

She huffs. “You know what happened at the Fereldan Circle during the Blight? How it fell to blood mages and abominations?” When Solas turns to her and nods, she continues, “After that, those of us who survived were put through our Harrowings. I was the youngest mage who passed in the Circle’s history. After everything, I wanted to pursue healing. I never wanted to be in that kind of position again without a way to help those around me.”

She pauses and turns away, taking a deep breath of the cold mountain air. When she continues, her voice is even again. “I believe I met a spirit of compassion. It… helps me heal, when it’s necessary. The rest of the time I heal with regular spirit magic and potions. You know.”

“I do know.” She looks back to see Solas smiling, and she relaxes under his gaze. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I was simply curious as to the truth of the rumors.”

Rose makes a noncommittal humming noise, and Solas tilts his head slightly, studying her. “Will you allow me to return you to the apothecary? I apologize for distracting you from your duties.”

“Yes, thank you,” she responds politely, feeling distinctly like she’s just taken some sort of test. She can’t for the life of her tell whether or not she passed, and the sensation settles heavily in her stomach. She doesn’t like it.

Solas leads her through the training yard, nodding at Cassandra as they pass by. They try to dodge some of the training recruits, but Rose is knocked back a step.

She collides with something solid, and she bounces away, spinning to face whoever she’s run into. She backs into Solas this time, but freezes when his hand taps the small of her back. He gracefully moves to her side as she gazes up at the red smear she’d been eyeing during their conversation.

Up close, she can see that the dark red color is the cloak slung over the shoulders of—

“Oh!” she squeaks, standing up straight and clasping her hands behind her back automatically.

The man is one she recognizes from her time in the Circle, from before it fell the first time. Knight-Captain Cullen stands before her, just as handsome as he is in her memory, with the added benefit of a scar curling up his right cheek from his lips.

“Commander, have you met our newest mage?” Solas asks from her side, ignoring the way Rose has stopped breathing.

Cullen looks from Solas to Rose, and a lopsided smile twists his mouth. “I… I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

Rose takes a deep breath, finally. “Rose Wedgwood, ser.”

His surprise is clearly written across his face. “You’re… Fereldan?” When she nods, he continues slowly, “So you were in the Circle at Kinloch Hold?”

She nods. “Yes, ser. I was there when you were, ser.”

It’s Cullen’s turn to have his cheeks darken. His hands move to grasp the pommel of his sword, and he shifts from one foot to the other. “You don’t have to call me ‘ser,’ Lady Wedgwood,” he says quietly. “I am no longer a templar.”

It takes a moment for his words to sink in, but when they do, she narrows her eyes at him. If he isn’t a templar, he’s the first she’s ever heard of who’s successfully left the Order.

“Then you don’t have to call me _Lady Wedgwood_ ,” she responds. “I’m not a lady. I was just _born_ in Wedgwood.” When Cullen opens his mouth, she answers his next question before he has a chance to say it. “It’s outside of Highever.”

“Ah.” Cullen’s eyes dance away from hers, then he forces them back. “It was nice to… to see you again, Rose.”

She makes another noncommittal humming noise before responding. She knows he doesn’t remember her. “It’s nice to see you as well, Commander. I’m pleased to see that you’re doing better than you were the last time we met.” 

Cullen’s flush darkens at her words, and she turns to walk away without waiting for Solas. The elf joins her without hesitation, and they walk silently back to Adan’s cabin.


	2. POV: Cullen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains Cullen’s PTSD nightmares. Elements of blood, gore, and horror.

Cullen sinks into his bed that night with a shuddering sigh. It was a long day working with the new recruits, and almost none of them know what they’re doing. His head aches from the constant clang of steel against steel combined with constantly having to bark orders at them.

That isn’t unusual. What’s different about today was the new mage Solas introduced him to. Or rather, _re_ introduced him to. 

The way she had frozen when she recognized him, deferring to him, calling him _ser_ and not quite looking him in the eyes… it made guilt twist into nausea in his gut.

It was too much like the way he used to be treated, the way he used to _want_ to be treated for comfort. He hadn’t expected to run into anyone who knew him from Kinloch working for the Inquisition.

He hasn’t seen anyone from Kinloch for ten years, not since he was transferred to Kirkwall. And to see one now…

He stretches out on his back and flings one arm over his eyes, blocking out even the dim light from the nearby fire. In the complete blackness, he wracks his brain looking for any memories of Rose.

She seems so young now, so ten years ago she must have been a child. He mostly worked supervising the older apprentices, sometimes the Enchanters. He had very little interaction with the younger mages, so it wasn’t that unusual for him not to remember her.

But she clearly remembered him, so he should know who she is.

He rolls onto his side and sighs heavily, trying to picture each of the mage children he saw in the tower, but that just reminds him of what happened to them. He pushes the thoughts out of his mind, and reaches for something, anything else to focus on.

He falls asleep, finally, reciting the Chant of Light.

 _Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_  
I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm.  
I shall endure.  
What you have created, no one can tear asunder.

His dreams are as he expects them to be after all of this time. Dark swirling images from Kinloch pull him down deeper into the Fade. He can feel the claws of the despair demon sinking into his skin, into his mind, holding him close as it whispers to him.

“I can set you free if you just say yes,” it whispers. “You never have to see this again, if you just…”

The scene changes, the darkness dissolving around him until he’s standing in the tower again surrounded by the bodies of his brothers, his fellow templars, torn apart by the demons Uldred ushered into the tower.

Their blood seeps into the stones, staining the floor and the walls, leeching into his boots. He swallows hard, looking down at them, trying to remember the words to the Chant that have carried him through this dream countless times before.

The sounds of fighting in the next room begin, and he knows what comes next. It’s time for Warden Amell– _Sophie_ –and her lover, now the king of Ferelden, to save him. It’s time for him to beg them to kill all the remaining mages in the tower.

When the door opens though, the dream is different. It’s Rose, ten years younger, blood and gore staining her Circle robes and smeared across her face. Her green eyes are wide, her hands trembling, and she slips and nearly falls in the blood of the templars. Her feet skid out from under her, and her arms windmill until she can stand upright again.

She closes the distance between them, raising one hand to place flat on the static cage holding him in. He wants to warn her not to touch it, it could kill her, but her palm touches it without damage. A twine of lightning curls up her arm and disappears into robe, but she doesn’t care. She smiles at him, and he blinks down at her.

“Cullen,” she breathes, and he thinks he remembers her. “Are you alright?”

He wants to tell her that he’s fine for now, that she needs to hide before Uldred finds her.

Instead he hears his voice echoing what he said all those years ago, “The other mages, they deserve to die! You can’t save them, you don’t know what they’ve become… they’ve been surrounded by blood mages whose wicked fingers sneak into your mind and corrupt your thoughts… you have to end it now before it’s too late!”

Rose pulls her hand back from the cage, a frown ghosting across her face. Maker, she looks so young. How could she have survived this?

“Ser Cullen, please, you don’t understand…” those words hit his chest and he staggers back. She’s said these very words to him before. “We didn’t accept anything they offered. We were strong.”

“To guarantee that no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there.” No, no, no. This isn’t right. She doesn’t need to hear this…

She takes a deep breath against the tears that he can clearly see forming in her eyes. She rolls up her sleeves and shows him her hands, her arms bared up to the elbows. “I am not a blood mage,” she pleads. “I am not an abomination.”

He remembers. He remembers her stumbling down from the tower at Irving’s side, clinging to the hand of an older Enchanter. She had blood smeared on her just like she does now, and she stood with wide eyes, staring right at him as he begged Gregoir to enact the Rite of Annulment.

She’d tried to convince him then that they were safe, but he wouldn’t hear it. She’d turned away from him and cried into the shoulder of the other mage, the blonde one whose name he can’t remember, and he didn’t care.

He wants to reach out to her, to clean the blood from her face and tell her how he’s changed, that he isn’t the same man he was that day, that he’s learned and grown and he’s dedicated the rest of his life trying to making up for what he did in Kinloch and Kirkwall.

He knows he can’t, but he wants to try.

He gives in to the temptation, pressing into the barrier, and his vision goes white. Rose disappears, the tower disappears, and the shock of the cage catapults him into wakefulness.

He sits up, gasping for breath, hands clawing at his chest. He’s kicked his blanket to the floor during his nightmare and sweat slides down his face and neck. He stands and leaves his tent without hesitation, letting the cold pre-dawn air cool his burning skin.

He runs his hands through his curls, damp with sweat, and they bounce down onto his forehead. He ignores the dishevelment for the moment, focusing on counting through his breaths.

Standing outside in the dark, the breach swirling above is more obvious. He stares up at it, watching the bolts of green lightning reach out into the clouds. His nightmares have always been bad, but something about being in Haven, so close to a tear in the Veil…

He turns away, slipping back into his tent. He’s awake now. It’s time to prepare for the day.


	3. POV: Cullen

Rose is avoiding him. He knows this for a fact, because every time she happens to notice him around, she immediately turns and finds somewhere else to be. It’s an impressive feat in a town as small as Haven. He considers recommending her to Leliana before brushing the idea away.

If Rose has any skills spying, Leliana would already have her claws in the mage.

He doesn’t seek her out. He knows his presence in Haven is upsetting her. He remembers the tenseness of her body at their meeting, the way she sobbed at his treatment the last time they met.

He might not go looking for her, but he always notices when she’s near him. Sometimes she has to come to the training yard to treat one of the recruits who was too clumsy running through his drills.

He always gives her space, standing as far away from her as he possibly can while still keeping an eye on his soldiers.

He wants to make things better, not worse, but he honestly has no idea what he can possibly do. If he could even manage to be in the same space as her, what could he possibly say?

He tries not to let it, but the thought consumes him whenever he has a spare moment to think. When he’s getting ready for the day, going through reports that are particularly boring, or as he tries to fall asleep, his mind worries over the problem.

Rose is the only person in all of Haven who knew him in his darkest moment. He wants… well, he isn’t sure.

He wants to make sure she’s okay after everything she went through.

He wants to make sure she knows he would never hurt her. Not now.

He wants to make sure she knows she can trust him.

He doesn’t know where to begin.

—

Cullen finds himself in the tavern a few weeks after their initial reunion, later than when he would usually take dinner. The small building is full to bursting, people sitting on every available chair, stool, and scrap of floor space to enjoy Maryden’s singing and Varric’s raucous storytelling.

He grabs a plate of food and a mug of ale and weaves his way through the crowd until he finds Varric’s table. One of his soldiers is sitting near the dwarf, and his face pales when he sees Cullen approaching. He’s out of the chair before Cullen can tell him to stay, disappearing from the tavern, and Cullen sinks into the vacated space without more than a moment’s hesitation.

Rose is there, sitting on the other side of the long table, listening to Varric’s story with rapt attention. Both of her elbows are resting on the rough wooden surface, her chin resting in her hands, green eyes wide and sparkling in the lantern light.

Seeing her this relaxed, it’s easy to forget what she went through in the tower. His experience is stamped in the lines on his face, in the shadows around his eyes, in the nightmares that force him awake at all hours of the night.

But Rose… she laughs at something Varric says, throwing her head back and closing her eyes as her mirth spills from her. She laughs with her whole body, lifting her feet up from the floor and pressing her hands to her chest. She takes a deep breath and snorts by accident as she laughs, and she immediately covers her face with her hands, cheeks darkening.

Cullen rips his eyes away from her as he mirrors her blush, forcing himself to look at Varric instead. The dwarf looks downright smug at the uproarious laughter at his table, and he leans in to continue his story, something Cullen is _positive_ never happened with Hawke.

He manages to avoid looking at Rose for a few minutes as he focuses on his food, but as the crowd begins to thin out, he finds himself looking over at her again.

Now that they’re so close, he wants to speak with her. Maybe she’ll listen to what he has to say, and even if she doesn’t believe him yet, he’ll have explained himself, and she’ll be able to think about it when she feels safer.

He shifts forward in his chair, and the movement catches Rose’s eye. She blinks at him once before recognition washes over her face. He sees the moment it happens, the moment she stops feeling safe, and immediately curses himself for getting carried away.

She presses her lips together as her whole body tenses, coiled for action. She looks from him to Varric, who’s launched into another tale, before slipping away, leaving her drink unfinished.

She walks away with her head high, but her fists clenched, and Cullen wants to curl up right where he is and die.

He’s used to mages not liking him. He is–was–a templar.

But Rose knows _him_. He’s given her a specific reason to feel unsafe in his company, and he would do anything to fix it.

He waits, abandoning his food and fingering his mug as Varric finishes speaking and waves away the crowd. The dwarf pulls out a stack of new paper and sets out an inkpot and a few quills, sitting like he’s ready to begin writing. He waits until everyone has left him alone before turning to Cullen, eyebrows raised.

“I’ve never seen Goose run off like that before, Curly,” Varric states, voice level and low so it wouldn’t carry. “Did you do something to her?”

Cullen opens his mouth to answer with a resounding no, but– “Goose?”

Varric’s lips twitch into a smirk. “She hates geese. Met her when she was running away from one that she’d pissed off.” He waves the hand holding the quill dismissively. “Not the point. Answer the question, Curly.”

Cullen exhales hard through his nose, both at the question and the nickname. “She was a mage at Kinloch when I was there as a templar.”

Varric’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline and he lets out a low whistle. “Were the two of you…”

“Maker’s breath, no!” Cullen exclaims. “I was–” _in love with the Hero of Ferelden._ “She was very young.”

“Mmm.” Varric makes an understanding noise as he begins scratching something on his paper. Cullen leans forward, trying to see if the notes have anything to do with him. Varric subtly moves away. “So she just remembers the big bad templar Cullen, and you hate that.”

Cullen just grunts in reply, picking up his ale to finish it in one long drink. Varric’s remark hit a little too close to the center of his problem, and he isn’t willing to face it yet.

He stands to leave, and turns before Varric’s soft voice calls him back. “Don’t go after her, Curly. I’ll talk to her.”

Cullen doesn’t acknowledge the offer before he leaves the tavern.


	4. POV: Varric

Varric waits several days before approaching Goose. He pokes around Haven, gathering as much information as he can about her and her background, but quickly discovers that hardly anyone there knows her.

Well. Everyone knows _who_ she is–the healer who’s uncannily good, channeling her magic better than the other healers and _certainly_ better than the apothecary–but no one seems to know much about where she came from or what she’s been through.

What’s more, no one even seems to _care_ about where she was before she showed up in Haven.

It’s an interesting attitude that he’s seeing more and more. With a few exceptions, everyone seems to be accepting of everyone else who wants to volunteer to help with the Inquisition regardless of their race or creed.

Even the Herald brought back a Qunari spy and his mercenary band. Obviously “the past is the past” is a saying the Inquisition has taken to heart.

He finds Rose in her usual spot in the apothecary. Her work done for the day unless someone takes ill, she has her feet propped up by the fire and a book in her hands. She’s taken what looks to be all of the free blankets in Haven to wrap around herself, leaving just her face and hands exposed.

She starts when Varric enters the cabin, but relaxes immediately when she sees who it is. She offers him a small smile and closes her book enough to make him feel like she’s paying attention to him, though she keeps her forefinger between the pages to mark her place.

“Are you ill?” she asks, cocking her head to the side as she looks him up and down. “Shoulder bothering you again?”

Varric scoffs and pulls the other chair away from the table with his foot, sliding it across the floor to rest next to hers. She raises one eyebrow but waits patiently as he sits next to her, putting his booted feet up on the hearth next to hers.

When he’s settled, he leans back until the chair is resting on its back legs. He carefully looks into the flames, avoiding her face, as he says, “I came to check on _you_ , Goose.”

She purses her lips as she considers the possibility that he’s being forthright with her. “Why?”

“I can’t check on my favorite healer without a reason?” He does turn to look at her now, a perfectly innocent expression on his face that makes her even more suspicious of his motivations.

She narrows her eyes. “Did you do something you need me to clean up?” she demands. “Because if I have to deal with one more—”

“Hey, hey,” Varric holds up his empty hands in defense. “I didn’t do _anything._ I just wanted to talk, that’s all.”

“Mmm.” Her noise is noncommittal and he grins over at her. She isn’t impressed with his excuses, so he decides to just dive right in and see how she reacts.

“You ran out of the tavern pretty fast the other night,” he points out. “I hope it wasn’t my storytelling that finally did you in.”

She stiffens almost imperceptibly. Varric carefully doesn’t look at her.

A moment of silence passes between the pair as she considers her options. She clenches her jaw and resolves to ignore the problem and hope it goes away.

Varric allows her this stubbornness. “Or perhaps it was the company that wasn’t to your taste?”

Rose grunts, but doesn’t speak. She opens her book and stares blindly down at the words, hoping to convince Varric to let the subject drop.

He doesn’t. “Listen, Goose, if Curly did something to you–”

“Curly?” She interrupts to clarify the nickname, as though she didn’t automatically know which man with curling golden hair had received the moniker.

Varric huffs out a sigh. “You know. Cullen. Big, human, red cloak, hair with curls that any lady would kill for?” Rose’s lips twitch into a little smile, and Varric relaxes. “If he hurt you, just say the word and I’ll take care of it.”

Her smile is wider now as she turns to face him fully. “Why, Varric,” she coos in a voice that might have been almost seductive if she wasn’t currently swaddled in a cocoon of blankets. “Are you offering to kill the Commander of the Inquisition for me?”

Varric just blinks at her until her little grin cracks into a full smile and she lets out a giggle. He laughs too, then, and shakes his head. “Prickles would probably kill me if I did. If she didn’t, Nightingale definitely would.” He flaps one hand to show her he’s done with that line of thought. “You should feel safe here, Goose.”

She looks back to the fire, cheeks flushing. Her heart starts to beat faster as she considers Varric’s words. Does she feel unsafe? Would Cullen really make her a tranquil based on what happened ten years ago? After everything she’s done for the Inquisition so far?

“He hates mages.” She’s proud of herself for keeping her voice steady. “It isn’t my fault I’m a mage. I didn’t ask for this.” She sinks lower in her chair, pulling her hands into the blankets before tucking them under her chin. “I survived the Circle same as him. He shouldn’t be like that.”

Varric lets her speak, waiting silently even as her voice cracks at the end and a distinct sniffle comes from under the blankets. When she’s finished, he turns to face her, propping his elbow on the back of his chair.

“He doesn’t hate mages, Goose. He fought alongside one to stop his commander from annulling the Circle in Kirkwall.” Another sniff comes from under the blankets. She doesn’t turn to look at him. “I don’t know what happened between you at _your_ Circle, but he’s grown up a lot since then. He’s seen some shit.”

She doesn’t respond again, and Varric shrugs. He can’t do anything more for her here. As long as she doesn’t think Cullen is going to attack her just based on her magic, his work is done.

He pauses behind her and pats what he thinks is her shoulder under the blankets. “Maybe just give him a chance. I think you’ll be surprised.”

Satisfied that he’s done all he can do, Varric leaves her alone with her thoughts, staring with damp eyes into the fire.


	5. POV: Rose

Despite Varric’s encouragement, Rose decides _not_ to speak to Cullen about their time together in the Circle.

It isn’t a big deal, really. It’s been ten years. The Herald is a mage; they wouldn’t keep Cullen around if he was prone to sneaking into mage’s tents at night and turning them tranquil.

All of the brands were probably destroyed in the rebellion anyway.

It’s what she would have done if she’d thought about it before leaving the Circle.

She should have take it right out of Gregoir’s office and deposited it at the bottom of the lake.

She keeps herself busy and distracted healing the minor ailments that crop up among the refugees that are flocking in increasing numbers to Haven.

As their cause grows, Haven expands, and Adan is able to fully commit himself to his former role as apothecary and allows Rose to take over all of the healing duties. She throws herself into the work without hesitation, organizing the other mages and non-magical volunteers to help heal the refugees.

Aside from minor injuries that could have healed on their own if the refugees had proper nutrition or even access to simple healing poultices, there are also quite a few diseases that needed to be stopped in their tracks before they spread to the rest of Haven.

This isn’t the life she’d pictured for herself when she left the Circle. It certainly isn’t the life she pictured for herself before the rebellion began, back when she daydreamed of a life where Circles didn’t exist and she was allowed to live her life as she wanted without fear of being locked away, or worse, by the templars.

She grows to love her new life, even though she has to work harder than she ever had to in the Circle. She’s colder and more tired, but she’s free. She can stand outside in the sun whenever she wants, she can run or laugh or sing without having to explain herself to the templars on duty, she can go for a walk outside and not worry about anything.

Except for Cullen.

She still avoids the training yard, choosing instead to take her walks through the woods towards the back of the Chantry. There’s an overgrown path there that she follows sometimes, up into the mountain until she gets tired and can’t hear the chatter of Haven anymore.

That is the one thing she misses from the Circle. The quiet.

She’s returning from one of these walks when one of the other healers skids to a stop in front of her. Rose flinches away from him, but recovers quickly, smiling at the younger man.

He’s another mage, from Ostwick, less experienced and more self-conscious than Rose. She left him in charge while she took her break, so it’s probably just–

“Enchanter Rose!” She huffs slightly at the formal way he speaks to her, waiting through the little bow he always gives her as a more senior Circle mage. Never mind that there are no longer Circles. “There’s a problem. I need your help.”

She sighs and gestures for him to lead her. They start off at a jog, and she begins rolling up the sleeves of her tunic just in case.

“What’s the problem?” she asks as they bypass the little hut she uses as a clinic and head toward one of the lower levels of Haven.

He shrugs. “Nausea, vomiting, head pain, light sensitivity, fainting…”

“Is it a soldier?” she asks as they reach the gates. “Did he hit his head during training?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so, ma’am.”

“That doesn’t sound like an emergency then,” she grouses, but allows him to lead her the rest of the way through the training field. He walks right up to one of the tents and holds the flap open for her, ushering her in.

Another soldier already sits by her patient, blocking her view.

“Out,” she snaps. The soldier jumps to his feet, salutes with one hand clasped over his heart, and pushes past her before she has time to react to the tattoo that curls down his nose and across his chin.

Alone in the tent with her patient, she realizes who he is. His normal cloak is gone, folded neatly and placed on his desk, and he’s stretched across a cot that’s really too narrow for his broad shoulders, one arm thrown over his eyes to block out the light.

She puts her hands on her hips and sighs. Of course it’s Cullen. She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, then breathes in again. She can do this. She’s allowed to use her magic here, on him. Bryn is with her, though he wouldn’t do any good in a fight against a templar, he would at least be a witness if she needs to complain to the Herald.

As if the Herald would listen to the complaints of a healer, even the head one.

She shakes her thoughts away as Cullen’s deep breath turns into a groan. He’s her patient, and he’s in pain.

She drops to her knees beside him. “Can you tell me what happened?” she asked, pitching her voice low to avoid aggravating his pain.

Her voice makes him jump, and he uncovers his eyes to see who’s there before the light makes him wince. He falls back onto his pillow with another grunt of pain.

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, body lying stiff on his cot. “It’s just a headache.”

Rose sighs softly. He’s going to be a terrible patient. “A headache that made you collapse on the field?” He doesn’t answer. “I’m going to examine you now. You shouldn’t feel anything except my fingers on your hand.”

She takes his free hand in both of hers, holding it lightly as she begins to send out pulses of healing magic. She watches as the pale green light flows over him, following the line of his arm to his chest, then spreading out over the rest of his body. If he had any injuries, in his body or otherwise, it should be obvious soon.

“What have you eaten today?” The question isn’t really important, but she wants to make sure he stays conscious through her examination.

The silence that follows makes her think he’s fallen asleep, but finally he says, “Nothing.”

She raises her eyebrows, sparing a glance at his face. “Nothing at all? No wonder you collapsed.” Her healing spell reveals nothing, so she sends another aimed at healing the migraine that plagues him. “You don’t need to be fighting and scaring your recruits on an empty stomach, Commander.”

She’s relieved to see his lips twitch up at the scarred corner in a tiny smile, despite the pain he must be in. She relaxes slightly, sitting down completely on the tent’s floor and propping her elbow up on the cot next to him. Her fingers start to rub little circles on his hand, trying to soothe his pain.

“Do you get migraines often?”

Another pause as he thinks. “Occasionally. Nothing I can’t endure. Maker, but that feels good.” His last thought is whispered as the tension starts to bleed out of his shoulders. His hand is limp in hers, letting her do as she will.

“Is this helping?” She furrows her brows to focus her energy, sending another wave of magic at his headache, following it by another test to see what’s wrong. Usually she can cure headaches easily, but this one…

“Yes,” he murmurs, already on the verge of sleep.

“I’m going to touch your head now, okay? Move your arm for me.” She drops his hand as he obeys her, moving the arm that was covering his face down to his chest. She leans back up on her knees, leaning over him to rest her palm on his forehead.

He keeps his eyes closed, but he exhales softly as her cold fingers touch his heated skin. She puts her free hand on his, unthinking, closing her eyes to focus on the spell that should see if there’s anything on the inside of his head that could cause this kind of persistent pain.

His fingers curl around hers, breaking her concentration. She glances down at their entwined hands, then up at the small smile on his face, then over at Bryn who’s hovering by the door, watching her every move. He offers her an encouraging smile, and she fights the urge to roll her eyes.

She closes them instead, starting her spell over. There was another mage in her circle who had a growth that caused headaches. The lead healer was able to shrink it over time, with consistent magical applications, but she would have to find it first…

“Thank you for doing this,” Cullen offers. “I… asked Rylen not to send for anyone.”

Rose scoffs. “Of course. I wouldn’t leave anyone in pain.”

“Even me.”

The two words are so quiet she isn’t sure she heard them. She freezes, looking down at him. His eyes are still closed, but his forehead has furrowed under her hand and his mouth has fallen into a frown. He doesn’t seem angry, he seems…

She clears her throat, coughing slightly to push past the moment. She doesn’t know how to respond to that.

He must know she’s been avoiding him. It isn’t hard to find somewhere else to be when she sees the red smudge of his coat approaching out of the distance. She always escapes before he comes into focus.

Her magic soothes through him, but comes back empty. There’s nothing in his head that’s causing this ache. Maybe he’s just one of the unlucky ones who have them for no reason that can be cured. The symptoms can only be managed.

She removes her hand from his head and tries to let go of his hand, but his fingers are tight around hers and don’t let go at first. It’s only on her second, more insistent tug that he releases her. She pats his arm in reassurance that she isn’t leaving yet, though touching the solid muscle makes her stomach twist.

“Next time you start to get a headache, come get a potion from me,” she says, hoping her tone of voice sounds more confident than she feels. “There’s no reason for you to suffer like this.”

He pries his eyes open, squinting even in the dim light of his tent to look at her. She starts in surprise as his amber gaze meets hers, then freezes in place as he props himself up on one elbow to speak to her directly.

“Rose.” Her name in his voice makes another shiver run through her and she sets her jaw. “I remember you.”

She raises her eyebrows, but says nothing.

“From Kinloch,” he prompts. She stays silent. “I just– thank you. For treating me. I know I don’t deserve it.”

She looks down at her hands in her lap and busies herself rolling her sleeves back down to her wrists. “You don’t have to thank me for, for doing my j-job, Commander,” she murmurs, cursing herself as her tongue stumbles over the words.

“But I do. Rose,” he reaches out one hand as though to touch her, but when she flinches away from him he immediately drops his hand back to his side. “I was cruel to you. You saw me in my darkest hour. I–” he sighs and covers his face with his hand. “You didn’t deserve the things I said to you. I’m sorry. I know you can’t forgive me, but I at least want you to know you’re not in danger from me.”

Rose purses her lips, staring down at her hands, then abruptly stands. She picks Cullen’s blanket up from the foot of the cot and shakes it out once before covering him with it.

“Rest. Don’t work again until tomorrow. Eat dinner, and tomorrow morning, eat breakfast. Hunger can trigger migraines, so try not to skip meals. You have recruits. Get one of them to fetch for you.” She issues her commands while keeping her eyes trained on a spot on the canvas wall just being his head. “Next time you have a headache, get a potion out of the apothecary.”

She doesn’t wait for him to acknowledge her orders before turning and slipping out of his tent.


	6. POV: Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter contains Rose’s PTSD nightmares. Elements of blood, gore, and physical abuse.

Cullen’s words rattle around in her head for the rest of the day, completely taking away her appetite even after her warning to him about not skipping meals.

She retires early, forgoing her usual trip to the tavern to hear Varric’s stories in favor of curling up in the cot closest to the fire in the house she shares with two other mages. She curls up under her blankets, tucking her head firmly under her pillow, and focuses on controlling her breathing until she falls asleep hours later.

Demon dreams are one thing. They make her wake up angry and still exhausted. Regular nightmares are better–she just wakes up angry, but after a full night of actual sleep.

After speaking with Cullen in the confines of his tent, Rose was worried that a demon might visit her–they come more often so close to the Breach–but the only demon that comes to her that night is a figurative one, one designed to twist her heart but leave her unpossessed.

She’s back in the tower, back in the Harrowing Chamber, huddled under Aurora’s arm with her arms wrapped around the Enchanter. Irving stands before them, arms and legs spread wide to help hide them from Uldred, but it isn’t working.

The blood mage sees them. The whites of his eyes have turned red, and blood–the blood of the other mages he’s already murdered–swirls through the air around him. The metallic tang of it seeps into Rose’s nose, into her mouth. She can taste the blood from her friends’ dead bodies, and she gags.

Aurora smooths her hand over Rose’s matted hair, murmuring nonsense words like she would to a child. Rose presses closer, trying to make herself smaller, anything to avoid being seen by Uldred.

Other blood mages fill the room, climbing up from the templar quarters below. The scent of blood follows them, filling the room with its thick, sickly scent. They clap each other on their backs, _proud_ of everything they’ve done in the Circle.

This was their home. How could they do this?

The Veil is so thin here, her skin is growing cold and clammy in response. She shivers as the blood mages gather together, the swirling blood an impenetrable barrier between them and the mages they hold prisoner. 

Uldred’s men whisper together for a long moment before turning as one to look at her. They surge across the Harrowing Chamber and push Irving aside. He falls, his hip hitting the stone floor, and he cries out. Before Rose has a chance to go to him, Uldred’s men rip her from Aurora’s arms and hold her high, her feet dangling off of the floor.

She kicks at them, legs flailing under her long skirts, but they just laugh in her face. Their eyes are red too, so red that she can’t see anything else in them, and she opens her mouth to scream.

She begs them to let her go, to put her down, to just kill her, she doesn’t want to be an abomination, she doesn’t want to be a blood mage, she was happy in the tower, why won’t they listen to her, please just let her go.

Uldred stalks up to her, eyes never leaving hers, and grasps her chin. His hand is covered in blood, smearing across her skin, and when he grins his teeth are stained red too.

“Do you accept my gift?” he demands, fingernails digging into her skin, tilting her face up until she meets his gaze.

She kicks out with her legs again, aiming for his groin, but she misses. She spits at him, a glob sticking to his cheek, and he rears back to backhand her across her face. Her head snaps to the side and her body goes limp for a moment as the pain radiates through it, bringing fresh tears to her eyes.

“Do you _accept my gift_?”

She licks her lip, feeling for broken skin, then scowls at him. She straightens her spine as much as she possibly can while being held by her arms, and grins at him. “Fuck. You.”

Uldred howls and slaps her again, then grabs the front of her robes and her face, forcing her head back. She can feel him pressing on her through the Fade, a demon hovering just on the other side. She can hear its whispers calling to her.

_I can make you stronger. I can help you defeat them. You need never worry about being harmed again._

The door slams open and the Hero of Ferelden is there, Alistair behind her, and Wynne immediately starts chanting something that makes the demon disappear back into the Fade, leaving her and the Veil alone.

Uldred’s men drop her immediately and she crumples to the floor. She screams at the Wardens, warning them, but they fight heedless of her calls. Before she can blink, she’s on the first floor of the tower with a tiny _tiny_ group of surviving mages, face to face with a frothing Cullen.

His skin is pale and waxy, the bags under his eyes deep, the vitriol coming from his mouth hard enough to make spit fly into her face when she stands too close. Sophie–no, _Warden Amell_ –won’t look at him, won’t even acknowledge his presence, as her face flames hot and Alistair keeps his hand on the small of her back. When she won’t listen and Gregoir won’t listen, he turns his attention to Rose, the mage standing closest to him.

“She could have a demon lying in wait!” he cries, his right hand reaching for a sword that’s no longer there. “She could be a blood mage, pretending to be innocent to avoid the Brand!”

With trembling fingers, Rose rolls up the sleeves of her robe. She holds out her arms to Cullen, offering as much of herself as she can to prove that she isn’t a blood mage. She spent three days in the Harrowing Chamber with Irving and the rest of the escaped mages. Surely he wouldn’t think _all_ of them blood mages.

“I am not a blood mage,” she pleads, twisting and turning her arms so he can examine her for cuts. His large hands shoot out and grab her wrists, fingers easily circling the thin joints, and he holds her still for closer inspection. “I’m not an abomination. Ser Cullen, please…”

Gregoir and Irving are at their sides in a heartbeat. Gregoir puts his hand on Cullen’s shoulder and pulls him away as Irving does the same for Rose. She struggles against his grasp, looking over her shoulder at Cullen’s retreating form.

“Come on, son,” the older templar sighs. “Let’s get some lyrium in you before you make this worse.”

Rose wakes with a start, sitting straight up in her bed, pushing her mound of blankets to the floor. It’s still dark out, the fire burned low in the hearth, and her two bunkmates are still soundly asleep.

She takes a few deep breaths before pulling the blankets back over herself and laying back down. She needs to relax and go back to sleep until the day truly begins.

She searches her memory to compare what really happened to her dream. She remembers offering her arms for Cullen’s inspection, but had he grabbed her? He had been afraid to touch her then, unwilling to give her any opportunity to use her magic against him. He’d backed away from her, running into Gregoir who had taken him away.

Her thoughts drift to the Cullen in the tent that afternoon. He had been ill, but he seemed gentle. When she shied away from his hand, he immediately pulled away. He wanted her to feel _safe_.

She curls onto her side and pulls her pillow against her chest, squeezing her eyes closed.

Could she feel safe around a man who wanted to make her tranquil? A man who had been convinced that she was a blood mage, an abomination waiting to happen, the kind of mage who would make a deal with a demon?

He’d been sent away from Kinloch not long after that. He always seemed scared, jumpy, his hand always on his sword as he watched the mages at work.

What happened to him in the Circle? Hardly any of the templars had survived the Circle falling. Cullen was the only one who had been trapped on the inside when Gregoir shut the doors that survived. 

He must have seen things that made him frightened of mages, the same way she was jumpy around the idea of blood and people who got in her face. She’s never asked for them to be killed, though. She just flinches away and ignores them.

Her eyes drift shut as she considers the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Cullen has changed over the last ten years. 

_“I was cruel to you. You saw me in my darkest hour. You didn’t deserve the things I said to you. I’m sorry. I know you can’t forgive me, but I at least want you to know you’re not in danger from me.”_

She falls asleep just as the sun begins to rise.


	7. POV: Rose

Cullen slinks into the apothecary several days later, the bridge of his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

Rose glances up at him, freezes, and forces her body to relax.

_He isn’t here to hurt you. He’s here to get a potion for his headache, just like you told him to._

She smiles at him--it’s a thin expression, wavering, but it’s there--and he immediately responds in kind. She sets down the quill she’s been writing with and holds out her hand to tell him to sit down in the other chair as she rises from hers.

He waits patiently as she moves to the cabinet in the corner, pulling a little key out of her pocket to open the drawer that hides the potions for pain relief. She selects a small red vial, locks the drawer back, tests it, then turns back to Cullen with the little smile still on her face.

She takes a deep breath and crosses the room to stand next to him, holding the vial out. He takes it from her, careful not to let their fingers brush, and immediately pulls out the cork to down the concoction in one swallow.

As he does, Rose puts her hand on his forehead and lets a wave of healing magic wash through him. He relaxes visibly, his shoulders slumping as the tension leaves them. He leans into her hand and lets his eyes drift closed. Her smile grows when he sighs and pries open eyes that now look utterly exhausted.

“Maker’s breath,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”

Their eyes meet and Rose feels her cheeks growing hot under his gaze. She pulls her hand back and turns away, walking to the other side of her desk to sit back down.

Cullen stays in his chair, watching her as she chews on the inside of her lip. Just as he’s beginning to give up and return to the training yard, she takes a deep breath and opens her mouth to speak.

“Commander--”

“Cullen.” She blinks at him, freezing in place, and doesn’t respond. A second passes between them before Cullen sighs softly and tries again. “You’re not one of the soldiers, you don’t have to call me Commander if you don’t want to.”

Rose licks her lips to buy herself a moment to decide if she can call him Cullen. Not Ser Cullen or Commander Cullen. Just _Cullen_.

She clears her throat and nods. “Y-yes. Right. Cullen, is there anything else, I can--”

“Commander!” The door to the apothecary opens with a slam as it bounces into the wall, and Rose immediately jumps, pulling a small barrier spell between her and the intruder. Cullen glances back at her when he feels the pull of the Fade, but quickly tuns his attention to scowl at the recruit who just burst in.

“What?” he snaps, standing and squaring his shoulders to make sure the recruit knows this wasn’t a welcome interruption.

The recruit pales but stands firm. “It’s Rylen, ser. He’s broken his leg. We need a healer.” Cullen and the soldier both turn to look at Rose, who’s already gathering supplies she might need in a small basket.

Without waiting, Cullen nods to the recruit, who salutes and turns on his heel to lead them through Haven to the training yard. Rose has to jog to keep up with them, cursing her short legs, but they quickly make it to a tent where Rylen is reclining on a cot.

Rose recognizes the dark tattoos on his face. He was the one in Cullen’s tent when she was called to treat his migraine, and she smiles at the memory before pushing the expression aside and sinking to her knees beside Rylen’s cot.

“Which leg?” she demands, rolling up her sleeves and pulling scissors out of her little basket.

Rylen’s eyes grow wide as he eyes the sharp instrument. “M-my right one,” he answers, and Rose spares him a glance at his accent. “What are those for?”

Her lips twist into a smile even as Cullen pushes past her to sit on the tent’s other cot, near Rylen’s head. “Your trousers.” She puts her right hand on Rylen’s right leg, closing her eyes to focus on the healing spell needed to see how bad the break is.

It washes over his skin, but bounces back before she can learn anything about the bone. She frowns and tries again, pushing harder with her magic, but again it comes up with nothing. “What--” she starts, opening her eyes and glaring at Rylen like it’s his fault her magic isn’t working.

He grins sheepishly at her. “Sorry, lass. I think it’s a templar thing. We’re resistant to magic.”

“A ‘templar thing’,” she echoes, looking from him to Cullen. The Commander meets her gaze evenly as she frowns.

“Very well. Drink this.” She hands Rylen a small red vial, similar to the one she gave Cullen, and waits until he’s downed it to start her examination. She puts both hands on his injured leg, pressing lightly with her fingers, feeling for the injury. Rylen hisses through his teeth at the feeling, but lays back onto the cot as she works.

When she finds the break, she cuts through his trouser leg to expose the area. She barely listens as Cullen begins speaking to his captain, finding out what happened and whether or not anyone needs discipline. 

With Rylen’s leg bare, Rose can easily see the bruise forming around the break. She clucks her tongue at it and gently presses her hand against the wound.

She closes her eyes and focuses her mana, drawing on the spirit that helps her heal to force her magic into Rylen’s leg to mend the bone. As her magic sinks into the muscle surrounding the bone, she presses on the leg harder to encourage the fractured bones to knit themselves back together.

Rylen’s body fights her for every tiny shard of bone that needs to be healed. She pushes back, biting her lip as she focuses, wrestling with skin and muscle and bone that don’t want to accept her.

When she’s finally satisfied that his bones are mended, she releases his leg and opens her eyes.

Rylen is staring at her, mouth agape, and Cullen has somehow moved behind her, propping her up as she starts to fall. She struggles to sit up, to pull away from his grasp, but her head spins and she collapses back onto him.

His strong arms encircle her, easily lifting her onto the second cot. She squeaks but doesn’t otherwise protest, catching his hand in hers to steady herself as her world spins around her.

“You used nearly all of your mana healing his fool leg,” Cullen mutters, one hand on her chin so he can examine her face, the thumb on his other hand idly tracing her knuckles. “Rylen, get her a lyrium potion.”

“Yes, ser.”

“No, wait, he needs to rest--” Rose’s words remain unheeded as Rylen jumps to his feet and runs from the tent, one of his trouser legs in tatters around his knee. Rose huffs and pulls away from Cullen to rest her head in her free hand.

They sit in silence for a long moment as she rests, trying to ignore the nausea that always comes with a lack of mana. She really did push herself too hard to heal that leg, even with the extra power that comes from being a spirit healer.

“Cullen.” She clears her throat as his name sticks in it. “What is it about templars that make them hard to heal?”

She doesn’t look up at him to see the pained look cross his face. “Lyrium. It grants templars their abilities.”

Rose’s head shoots up as she suddenly meets Cullen’s gaze. “Lyrium?” He nods. “But... I thought only mages could use lyrium. If anyone else does, it’s...” she trails off, considering the ramifications of a non-mage ingesting the toxic, _addictive_ substance. 

Cullen just shrugs and clenches his jaw.

Rose bites her lip and winces as her teeth hit the bloody gouge that she left behind from healing Rylen. She clutches Cullen’s fingers tighter as the pain bursts through her, then immediately releases him as she realizes she still holds his hand.

“You... you’re easier to heal than Rylen is.” She pushes past the embarrassment heating her cheeks to follow the line of thought that’s been teasing at her mind.

The knight in question slips back into the tent and presses a small vial of blue liquid into her hand before disappearing again. Cullen stares at it, then forces himself to look away as she drinks. The metallic tang makes her gag, but as soon as she swallows the potion her body relaxes and gains strength all at once. She licks her lips, cleaning any lyrium that may have been left behind, and heals the cut.

When Cullen looks back at her, he's taking breaths as shallow as he possibly can against the smell. “I told you. I am no longer a templar.” He looks down at the empty vial in her hands, then stands, moving to the tent entrance. “You should... you should get some rest.”

Cullen slips away before Rose can ask all of the questions his answer gives.


	8. POV: Rose (and Cullen)

_Lyrium. Templars. Addiction. Withdrawal._

Rose worries at her bottom lip as she digs through the few books still in the apothecary. They’re mostly recipes for different potions, guides on how to treat common ailments, nothing about the effects of lyrium on non-mages.

“What I would give for a Circle library,” she mutters, slamming the final book closed after coming up empty yet again. 

She heaves a heavy sigh before looking over at Ceri, the only other mage still in the cabin.

“How much do you know about templars?”

Ceri looks up from her copy of _Hard in Hightown_ with an unfocused expression. “What?”

“Templars,” Rose repeats, doing her best to hide her impatience. “Did you know they take lyrium?”

“Of course. Didn’t you?” Ceri looks back down at her book, lips moving silently as she searches for her place.

Rose just grunts, refusing to be embarrassed by her lack of knowledge. “Do you know why, though? Or what happens if they quit?”

Ceri sighs heavily and rolls her eyes as she looks over at Rose. “They can’t cast a Holy Smite if they don’t have enough lyrium,” she says. “Or a Silence. But they get sick if they stop taking it. I think it can kill them.” She stands, tucking her book under her arm. “Didn’t you ever talk to the templars in your Circle? There was one in mine, a lovely woman. Eva.” Ceri’s eyes go glassy as she remembers the templar. “She told me all about it. One of the men was expelled from the Order for attacking one of the mages, and she said it was like a death sentence.”

She doesn’t wait to see if Rose has any more questions before slipping out of the cabin. Rose sits, quiet, one thumbnail in her mouth as she chews on it, mulling Ceri’s words over in her mind.

_A death sentence._

Was Cullen so insistent on leaving the templars that he was willing to die? He obviously wasn’t taking lyrium any longer, despite having access to it. She wouldn’t have been able to heal his migraines if he was, at least not so easily. Her fight with Rylen’s leg showed her that much.

Are his headaches caused by the lack of lyrium in his system? Are they the first sign that his body is shutting down, or a sign that he’s surviving past when most templars would have given in and begun begging for lyrium in the streets?

The questions build up in her head until she needs to leave the apothecary to relieve them. She dons her jacket and scarf, tucking her chin down against the frigid nighttime air.

Her feet carry her down through Haven to the tavern, and she hovers by the bar to dig around in her pockets looking for coins until warm hand closes around her elbow. She freezes, turning slightly to see Cullen’s now-familiar fur collar at eye level. She leans back enough to look up at him, blinking in the tavern’s dim light at his hesitant smile.

“Allow me, please.” His eyebrows raise in question, waiting for a response. She licks her lips and nods, and his smile grows to a real one. He drops her arm and waves Flissa over. He orders an ale, then steps back to let Rose order the wine she’d been craving before passing a handful of coppers to the waitress.

The crowd in the tavern presses them closer to the bar and to each other, but even this close proximity isn’t panicking Rose as much as simply meeting his gaze had during their reintroduction weeks ago.

Someone bumps into her back, knocking her forward into Cullen. He grabs her arm again to steady her, but as soon as she’s back on her feet he releases her, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable than he already has.

“Are you feeling better?” His voice is low, pitched so that only she can hear it. He ducks his head towards her without taking up any more of her space, and she blinks up at him in surprise for a moment before she realizes what he’s asking.

“Who? M-me?” She blinks up at him, wrinkling her forehead, and the scarred corner of his mouth lifts slightly. She stares at it, wondering when he’d gotten it. Not in the Circle. Where had Varric said he’d fought?

“Yes, you. After healing Rylen?” She forces her gaze back up to his eyes and desperately tries to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks. “You seemed ill.”

Flissa arrives with their drinks, pushing them across the bar into their hands, and Rose steps away, allowing the rest of the crowd to fill in the space. Cullen follows her at her smile and they soon find themselves standing outside near one of Haven’s many campfires.

It’s quiet out here, more private, and Rose feels comfortable saying, “I was fine as soon as you gave me the lyrium potion.” She watches the way his eyes flit away from hers as he buries his face in his mug. When he doesn’t respond, she tries again, “You’re a lot easier to treat than Rylen was.”

“I’m no longer--”

“A templar. You said that.” Cullen stands up a little straighter and turns to look at her, surprised at the small smirk he sees on her face. He answers her with a smile of his own, despite himself, and she takes that as encouragement. “Did you stop taking lyrium when you left the Order?”

He clenches his jaw and for a moment she’s afraid she’s stepped too far. Her stomach drops and she hides her sudden nervousness in her wine.

“I did.” His voice is calmer than she was expecting, and she relaxes slightly. The undercurrent of nervousness is already there, though, and her hands tremble as they clutch her cup.

“Can’t that, that k-kill you, though?”

Cullen sighs and looks into his mug like it might hold better news. He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand for a moment, working out some of the tension that’s gathering there over her line of questioning.

Of course, even asking him about his lyrium withdrawals is better than the horrified silence that greeted him the first time they met. It seems to be a step in the right direction.

“When I left the Order...” he trails off, sifting through the thoughts her question brings to mind. He clears his throat and starts again, turning to face her. Their eyes meet and his gaze bores into hers, willing her to understand. “I couldn’t be bound to that life any longer. The things that I saw, the things that I did, the things that I allowed to happen...” he stops again and takes a steadying breath.

He wants to step closer to her, to tell her that he isn’t that man anymore, that he wants to be better. It’s the same impulse he had after their first meeting in Haven, but he knows it would only scare her away. It’s a miracle that she’s even out here with him, alone.

He forces himself to take a deep breath before continuing. “Whatever the suffering, I will endure it.”

Rose pulls her lower lip into her mouth, biting down on the soft flesh as she stares up at him. For just a moment, she sees the young knight who so enchanted her all of those years ago. The young man who was kind, who always spoke to the mages when they stopped him, who always had a smile to spare for a young mage with an impossible crush.

She takes a tentative step closer to him, then another, closing the distance between them until she can reach up to touch his face. He freezes, catching his breath as though just that tiny movement might scare her away. She strokes her thumb across his cheek, releasing a healing spell into his skin.

The sudden burst of magic makes him suck in a breath, but he doesn’t move, and she doesn’t pull her hand away for a long moment, even after the spell dies down, taking his lingering headache with it.

“You don’t have to endure it,” she whispers. 

Before he has a chance to respond, she’s slipping past him back into the tavern, leaving him alone by the fire.


	9. POV: Cullen

When the Herald sealed the Breach, Cullen thought he would be able to finally relax, if just for a few moments. His troops were celebrating with the townspeople, someone shoved a mug of ale into his hand, and he thought...

But, no. The templars attacked. His _brothers_ under the influence of a...monster, a darkspawn, a man controlling an archdemon, with Samson working as his second-in-command.

It was a nightmare, something he never thought would get worse, but then...

The Herald stayed behind. She didn’t make it back with her team, and now Thedas is without the one woman who can save it.

Leliana’s scouts run ahead of the refugees, searching through the mountain pass for anything resembling shelter. The avalanche changed the landscape drastically; nothing is where it was before, and the clouds have decided to fight them by sending fat snowflakes down to hide their trail and soak them to their cores.

Cullen stays near the back of the group, eyes constantly scanning the horizon for any sign that Nora might still be alive.

He doesn’t see one.

It takes nearly all night for the remnants of Haven--now refugees twice over--to find somewhere to rest. The scouts guide everyone down into a valley, protected by high cliff walls on two sides and a steep hill on a third. Tents are quickly erected, fires lit, the wounded taken to all of the healers who survived.

Cullen hesitates at the edge of the camp, searching the throngs of people for the familiar shock of blonde hair, the red scarf wrapped around a slender neck, that would mean Rose is still safe. He’s been looking for Nora so religiously that he hasn’t had time to check on her, but...

_There._

She stands with a small group of mages, giving them directions even though most are older than her, gesturing with her hands to punctuate whatever commands are slipping past her lips.

Cullen ignores the warmth that blooms in his chest at the sight of her, ignores what it means, and turns back to Cassandra.

The Seeker hovers next to him, her hands clasped behind her back, a pained expression on her face. “Leliana’s scouts have not seen her yet,” she says, voice low so that the bad news won’t carry. This isn’t something the refugees need to hear. “We need to discuss--”

“No.” Cullen cuts her off easily, overlooking the way she clenches her jaw at him. “Andraste protected her in the Fade. She will send the Herald back to us now.”

He stands with his back straight, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind him, looking every bit the Commander that the Inquisition needs him to be. He exudes strength and faith he does not feel, waiting with growing doubt for the Herald to appear over the horizon.

Everyone is exhausted. Hypothermia and frostbite are very real concerns now, but still the Inquisition works together. Leliana sends out scouts to keep watch for Nora. Josephine flits between nobles and refugees, making sure everyone has what they need to the best of her ability. Cullen has his troops working on the tents and the fires, setting up their temporary camp as best as they can.

Without realizing it, Cullen begins walking back up the hill that leads out of the valley. His boots sink into the thick snow, making his movements slow and difficult. Thick snowflakes stick to his hair and his fur collar, but he ignores the uncomfortable sensation.

_What must Nora be suffering through._

Again, Cassandra is at his side, following him even though she knows this is probably a waste of their time and energy. She’s a seasoned warrior, loyal, and the Inquisition is blessed to--

“There!” Cullen’s eyes lock onto a slumped figure at the top of the rise, and he pushes his legs to move faster as the person falls forward.

He slips in the snow, falling onto his knees before her, and he brushes the snow off of her face. Nora stirs under his touch and blinks her amber eyes at him. He waits for the light of recognition, but none comes before her eyes close again.

“Cassandra!” he snaps, but she’s already at his side. She helps him stand with Nora in his arms, carefully tucking Nora’s crackling green hand onto her chest, and walks beside him as he carries her back down the hill to the camp.

He strides past everyone, ignoring the murmurs that Nora’s immobile body inspire, and pushes into the tent his soldiers set up for him. Cassandra follows behind him, ready to help as he sets Nora down on his cot.

“Go get Rose,” he commands. “And Solas.” Cassandra nods and disappears, leaving Cullen alone with the Herald.

Cullen pulls his gloves off and takes Nora’s bare hands in his, grimacing at how cold her fingers feel. She’s still breathing, but each breath is more shallow than the last. It’s been years since he’s had to deal with a Fereldan winter, years since he’s even seen snow. He racks his brain for what he was taught to do for templars caught out in the snow, but...

Rose runs into the tent just as he starts to remove Nora’s boots. The mage looks exhausted, frazzled, deep circles under her eyes that weren’t there the last time he saw her.

She drops to her knees beside him, hands already glowing blue, and presses her fingers to Nora’s face. She closes her eyes, focusing, and Cullen watches with his jaw slack as the spell travels through Nora, disappearing under her clothes only to reappear next to him on her bare foot.

“Right.” Rose opens her eyes and looks critically at the scene in front of her. Nora’s clothes are soaked through, the ram leather and samite doing little to protect her body. “After this, we’re getting the Herald some armor that’s actually, you know, _warm._ ” Her eyes meet Cullen’s and she’s _smiling_ at him, truly smiling, and Cullen forgets how to breathe.

Rose narrows her eyes at him. “Help or get out. We need to get her out of these clothes.” Solas presses into the tent, then, staff in hand, looking nearly as exhausted as Rose does. The three of them work together, stripping the wet armor from Nora’s prostrate body.

The job done, Solas and Rose immediately begin sending gentle warming spells into Nora’s body, working on bringing the temperature of her blood back to where it should be. Rose pulls the one thin blanket over Nora’s naked frame before sparing a glance at the Commander. “We need more blankets. Whatever can be spared. Get mine from my tent if you can’t find any others.”

Cullen nods and immediately moves to obey. Cassandra is standing guard outside of his tent, and he offers her a small smile. “She’ll make it, but we need more blankets to warm her.”

He turns without waiting for a response, seeking Josephine first. She’ll know where each and every blanket is in this refugee camp, and she’ll be able to point him in the right direction.

As he searches, he offers up a prayer, both of thanks and of supplication, for Nora’s survival and healing. Andraste has given her back to them, once again saving her life when death was inevitable.

If anyone doubted whether or not Nora Lavellan is the Herald, those doubts must surely be erased now.

Cullen returns to his tent with four blankets--Josephine’s, Leliana’s, Cassandra’s, and Rose’s. Solas has fallen asleep sitting on the floor, his head resting on the cot next to Nora, his hand firmly in hers. Rose looks like she’s about to fall asleep too, but she stands when Cullen enters.

“Thank you,” she whispers, taking the blankets from him. She tucks them around Nora, completely enclosing her in the warm wool. She takes the final blanket and drapes it over Solas’ shoulders with a smile, then pushes Cullen out of the tent.

When her feet hit the ground outside, trampled snow that’s beginning to freeze over into ice, one slips out from under her. She reacts with barely a squeak, grabbing onto Cullen for support. He wraps one arm around her waist, yanking her away from the puddle, and puts his free hand on her shoulder to steady her when he sets her back down.

“Oh, ahh,” her words disappear into an embarrassed, tired giggle before she clears her throat. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Cullen’s voice is deep, his words pitched low so only she can hear them, and she shivers lightly. He removes his arm from her waist but leaves his hand on her arm, letting it drift slowly down her sleeve. Her eyes meet his and he watches as her cheeks heat up, turning a lovely red in the firelight.

“Isn’t, uh... isn’t that your tent?” Her words snap him back to reality and he releases her completely, turning slightly to look at the tent they’ve just vacated. He looks back at her and nods, not sure where his voice has gone, and she smiles softly. “Where are you going to sleep, then?”

He just shrugs. “It is nearly dawn. The Herald will be awake soon. We must plan--”

“Cullen!” Her voice is sharp, cutting through his words, and he blinks down at her in surprise. She props her hands on her hips and fixes him with her heaviest look, the one she reserves for patients who won’t listen. The slight wobble of her exhausted body takes away from the seriousness, but he falls silent regardless. “You can’t just not go to sleep,” she scolds. “You’ll give yourself another migraine or worse.”

He sighs and looks away from her, and again she startles him by taking his face in her hands. “Look at you, I bet you’re already...” she falls silent as his amber eyes meet hers, releasing a healing spell into him instead. She’s right; it soothes the headache growing at the base of his skull, but the act makes her head spin and she lists forward.

He grabs her elbows, the closest thing to him. “Rose, quit that. You’ll make yourself sick, and then where will we be?” The magic stops immediately and her hands drop from his face to his breastplate, palms pressing against the cold metal. She doesn’t move away, and he doesn’t let her go.

She blinks slowly, fighting sleep to stay upright, and sighs as he squeezes her arms, gently, drawing her attention back to him.

“I want... I need you...” He huffs in irritation as his words tangle on his tongue. “Go rest. Don’t work any more magic until after you’ve slept.”

She narrows her eyes at him and for a moment he’s afraid he’s gone too far, that he’s scared her again in their exhaustion, but after a moment her smile lights up her face and makes him want to sag against her, clutch her to his chest in a tight embrace.

He doesn’t.

“Is that an order, Commander?” Her voice is light, teasing, and he mirrors her expression.

“Will it make you more or less likely to obey if I say yes?” His lips twist into a smirk as he speaks, watching as she mulls his question over in her mind.

It takes a moment for his teasing to register, but when it does she barks out a surprised laugh, snorting before she can help herself. The sudden noise makes her blush and she ducks her head down, resting her forehead against his chest.

Her shoulders shake as she laughs, and he instinctively tugs her closer to him, moving one hand from her elbow to the back of her head. She sounds breathless, her laughter a touch hysterical, but she leans into him and lets him hold her.

Three months ago she couldn’t meet his gaze, and now he has her in his arms--even if it’s just to hold her upright in her exhaustion. His cheeks heat up even as he joins her in laughter.

When she finally pushes away from him, he lets her go, ignoring the sudden urge to move his hand from the back of her head to her cheek and tilt her face up to meet his. The thought makes him blush all the harder, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she pauses to wipe the tears from her eyes with the edge of her sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes. “I _am_ exhausted. I’ll, uh--” she hesitates, glancing down at his hand still on her arm. He immediately releases her, tucking both his hands behind his back, and she takes a half step away. “I should go lay down.”

She turns away from him, not meeting his eyes again, and he stands perfectly still outside his tent until she slips out of his sight.


	10. POV: Rose

Skyhold is beautiful. It’s more than she ever could have imagined. Tall stone walls, beautiful woodwork on the inside, old magic that keeps the courtyard several degrees warmer than the frigid mountain range in which the keep rests.

It’s perfect.

Rose organizes the healers into some semblance of order. Most of the healing and restorative potions were used on the way to Skyhold, so she has them scouring the valley outside for any herbs they can use to make more.

She takes over one of the smaller towers, creating a clinic for some of the more serious cases. She digs up a desk from one of the many abandoned rooms, putting it in the first room of the clinic, and sets up her little office.

She never imagined this would happen when she left Kinloch, but here she is, the de facto head healer, a small army of healers under her command. The thought makes her smile as she works, scrubbing and dusting and cleaning out the tower’s other rooms.

For now, it’s full of people who don’t necessarily need medical attention as much as they need beds to sleep in out of the cold. Even Rose has taken to sleeping inside the tower, curled up in her chair, rather than roughing it outside in a tent.

They haven’t been in Skyhold long before they name Nora the Inquisitor. She proclaims to protect Thedas in the name of the elves, earning some muttering among the healers. Rose shuts it down. If you have a problem with elves, she reasons, you shouldn’t be a healer.

Just as everyone is moving out of tents in the courtyard to their permanent housing, Knight-Captain Rylen appears in the door of the clinic. Rose looks up and smiles when she recognizes him.

“Knight-Captain,” she greets, proud of the way she can say his title now without her voice trembling. “Break your leg again?”

Rylen grins, leaning against the door frame. “Ach, no. I’m afraid you don’t get to heal me again just yet. It’s the Commander who wants you. He’s in his office.”

Rose nods, and Rylen disappears. She reaches into the bottom drawer of her desk, pops out the false bottom, and grabs one of the few remaining potions for pain relief. She tucks it into her pocket before closing the drawer and heading for Cullen’s office.

The room is dark when she pushes in through the closed door, the chair behind his desk empty. She turns in a slow circle as though he might be hiding behind the ladder, then calls out, “Cullen?”

A thumping noise draws her attention to the ceiling, showing her a hole above where the ladder rests. She moves to stand under it, hands on the rungs, and waits for another moment.

“Rose.” His voice sounds thick, and it’s... trembling? A cough interrupts whatever else he might have been about to say, then she grimaces at the unmistakable sound of retching.

She takes a deep breath and climbs the ladder. It’s been a while since she’s had to climb anything, and the unfamiliar motion makes her arms start to shake before she makes it all the way to the top.

Even though the wooden roof is rotted through in several places, allowing vines and sunlight to stream through, a bed, trunk, and barrel have been placed in the space for Cullen to use. He’s stretched out on his back on the bed, wearing just trousers and a loose tunic, a bucket placed conveniently nearby on the floor.

He doesn’t move when she enters the loft, letting her cross the room to him. Closer, she can see the sweat standing out on his brow and making his tunic stick to his chest.

She blushes, forcing herself to look away from the lines of muscle she can see to look at his face and assess the situation. His skin is pale, damp, and she reaches out to smooth his hair back from his forehead without thinking.

His eyes open at her touch and a small smile lights his face. “Migraine?” she asks, careful to keep her voice just above a whisper to avoid causing him pain.

He licks his lips before speaking, and her eyes track the movement. “Yes.”

She kneels by the bed before pulling out the pain potion and uncorking it. She carefully tilts the concoction into his mouth, and he swallows compulsively. He coughs, and she flinches away, afraid he’s going to be sick again, but he calms almost immediately.

She runs her fingers through his hair, letting a healing spell leech slowly out of her. “You’re supposed to find me before they get this bad, Cullen,” she admonishes. He doesn’t respond, relaxing under her touch.

Even when her spell finishes, she keeps carding her fingers through his hair, watching as the lines in his face soften under her touch. When she finally moves to stand, Cullen’s eyes suddenly open, pinning her in place with his gaze.

“Rose. Can you...” he pauses, cheeks turning red, but pushes through with his question. “Can you stay? Please?”

She pulls her lower lip into her mouth, considering. 

He turns away from her, closing his eyes again. “If you want to leave, I understand.”

The wrinkle appears between his eyebrows again and her heart pinches in her chest. “I’ll stay. Scoot over a little, though.” Cullen obeys, moving deeper into the bed, leaving room for Rose to sit next to him. She stretches her legs out down the bed and returns her hand to his hair, rubbing softly, soothing as best she can.

A little smile turns his lips up, and she stares at them without shame.

Seeing him relaxed like this, even in pain, reminds her of the way he used to be in the Circle, before it fell. He was so kind to all of the mages, even when the other templars made fun of him. He played chess with them sometimes, offered to help when he could.

Once she’d been tasked with dusting the entire library as punishment, just before the Circle fell, and Cullen had helped her with the higher shelves. That’s what cemented him in her heart, how willing he was to let his guard down for a few minutes to help a tired, sad apprentice.

“This is nice.” Cullen’s quiet voice makes Rose flinch in surprise, but she resumes petting his hair immediately. “Thank you. For staying.”

Rose hums softly. “Well you asked so nicely.”

Cullen’s laugh turns into a cough, and he hisses through his teeth as it makes his headache flare. Rose hums again and works up another healing spell, soothing him, and he relaxes against her. His head moves until it’s resting against her thigh, but she doesn’t move away.

He heaves in a breath, letting it out in a long sigh, pulling Rose’s attention back to his face in time to see him speak. “I know it’s not... easy for you. To see me.” His voice is slow, halting, as though he’s afraid to scare her away.

She bites on the inside of her lip, chewing softly as she considers her response. “You’re not the same as you were the last time I saw you.” Her hand catches on a tangle in his curls and she pauses to pull her fingers loose before starting again. “I know that. It can be hard to remember sometimes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Cullen.” Rose turns slightly to lean over him, putting her hand on his chin to ensure he’s paying attention to her. His eyes open slowly, meeting hers, and she smiles down at him. “Stop apologizing.”

Cullen’s eyes blink once, slowly, before a slow smile crosses his face. He turns his head and catches her hand, pressing a chaste kiss on her palm before closing his eyes one final time to sleep.


	11. POV: Rose

It quickly becomes common knowledge that Rose is the only healer the commander will let heal his frequent headaches. Whenever a recruit pops into the clinic without any obvious illness or injury, everyone always turns to get Rose’s attention without asking.

She doesn’t mind it. She blushes prettily under Ceri or Bryn’s teasing, but she just smiles and heads to Cullen's office. She always takes a potion for the pain, but more often than not he's content with a simple healing spell and, occasionally, a warm meal shared together if she arrives at the right time.

Usually, no more than two or three days will pass between their meetings, a regular schedule that worries her as much as she’s beginning to enjoy it. There’s no precedent for completely withdrawing from lyrium. As far as they know, no one has managed to do it before. All Rose knows is that Cullen is still alive, and she’ll do anything to keep him that way. 

When nearly a week goes by between his headaches, she starts to get antsy. Is this a sign the lyrium is nearly gone from his system? She hasn't noticed it becoming any easier to heal his headaches, but they have been less intense than they were when she arrived in Haven.

She chews on her thumbnail as she thinks, staring at the empty clinic door. Maybe he’s simply decided his headaches aren’t bad enough to call for her anymore. He's probably grateful that he doesn’t have to spend time with her when he could be working, or playing chess with Dorian, or even spending time with some other woman better suited to him.

“Bah.” She dismisses the intrusive thought with an annoyed grunt, pulling her thumb out of her mouth and turning back to her new cabinet of potions.The other mages have been working hard to restore their stocks to the level they had been in Haven. With the Inquisitor traveling more and fighting bigger enemies than just rogue templars and apostates, the stock of healing potions is constantly being raided by her inner circle.

Rose doesn’t mind that either. It was exactly why she joined the Inquisition in the first place, to help. She’s counting the number of regeneration potions left for the third time when she notices Ceri hovering by the side of her desk. She turns, hand on one of the vials, and glares at the other healer.

Ceri just shoots her a cheeky grin. “Not going to see your commander today?”

Rose sniffs and turns back to counting. “Why? Need me to leave so you and Bryn can have some ‘alone time’ in one of the unoccupied rooms?”

“Why, I would never,” Ceri gasps, but Rose can hear the laughter in her voice without turning around. “I just thought it’s past time you paid him a visit.”

“I haven’t been _visiting_ him, Ceri. I’ve been helping with his migraines. You know that.” Rose doesn’t turn around, knowing her face is turning red in anger instead of embarrassment. Just because she thought they’d been growing closer doesn’t mean... “We need to take inventory anyway.”

Rose expects another loud groan out of Ceri. Instead, she feels a gentle hand on her back and another closing the cabinet door in her face.

“You’ve been cooped up in here for five days now,” Ceri scolds. “Go to the tavern, have some drinks, come back completely sauced, and I’ll take care of the clinic. Without touching Bryn, swear on the Maker.”

Before Rose can protest, she finds herself standing outside of the clinic with the door shut firmly in her face. She stares at it for a minute, deciding whether or not to be angry, but before she realizes she’s made the decision, her feet have taken her up the nearby stairs to the battlements.

She follows the wall around the keep, ducking her head against the wind that always seems to be coming down from the mountain. Her feet lead her on an unwavering path directly to Cullen’s office door, and she hesitates for a moment, deciding whether to knock, walk inside, or leave.

Again, she shakes her head, pushing away the thought, and lets herself into Cullen’s office just like she has every time before.

She stops cold when she sees a stranger sitting in Cullen’s seat, his booted feet propped up on Cullen’s desk amid the paper and quills that are always covering it. She squints, keeping her hand on the doorknob, and readies a lightning bolt just in case.

The strange man raises his eyebrows at her, his wide mouth twisting into a smirk. She starts to blush under the intensity of his gaze, so she draws herself up to her full height and frowns down at him.

This only serves to make his smirk grow and his blue eyes sparkle, however, and he changes positions to let his feet touch the floor and his elbows rest where his boots had been moments before.

“Are you looking for our dear Commander Cullen?” he asks, voice deeper than Rose was expecting.

“I--” she hesitates. “Yes.”

The man winks at her, and she feels herself relaxing under his gaze. She lets go of her spell. “He just went to get us some food. I’m sure he’d be happy if you joined us.”

Rose tilts her head to the side, considering her options, then closes the door behind her. She leans against it, unwilling to fully enter the room without knowing who this new man is.

He notices her reticence and stands, staying on the far side of the desk. He bows, deeply, the smile still on his face. She quickly takes in his form: tall, muscular arms exposed in his light armor, dark hair, an air around him that makes her want to trust him. A rogue, perhaps?

“Gavin Hawke, at your service.”

“Oh!” The reaction slips from between her lips before she can stop it, and she claps one hand over her mouth as her cheeks turn bright red.

Gavin seems to enjoy her reaction, beaming, and closes the distance between them. Closer to her now, he offers his hand to her. She takes it in hers, and as soon as their skin touches a spark jumps between them.

Rose rips her hand back. “Oh! I’m sorry.”

He just shrugs, unconcerned. “That happens with other storm mages. It’s very lovely to meet you...” He pauses, waiting for her name, and she blinks at him for a moment before realizing.

“Rose.”

“Rose!” If she thought Gavin was grinning broadly before, she doesn’t know what to call his expression now. He schools it quickly, dipping into another quick bow. “Lovely name, that. Rose.”

“Mmm.” She crosses her arms over her chest and stares up at Gavin, trying to figure out exactly what he’s up to. He seems much too pleased to meet her, almost as if...

One of the other doors opens suddenly, slamming against the wall. Rose jumps, immediately putting a barrier around her and Gavin before turning to see who it is.

Cullen stares at her, a tray covered with food clutched in his hands. His face flushes as he looks from Rose to Gavin, but he doesn’t mention the barrier glimmering dimly between them. He swallows hard before turning to his desk, crossing the rest of the room to put the tray down.

“Took you long enough, Cullen,” Gavin greets, moving to sit back down in Cullen’s chair. The commander glares at him, but he doesn’t react, focusing instead on the wine Cullen brought. “I invited your _friend_ here to join us.”

Cullen looks from Gavin to Rose, a little frown appearing on his face.

Rose gasps a breath before her words start tripping over each other on their way out of her mouth. “I--ahh, I did-didn’t come for d-dinner,” she forces out. “Just to see h-how your head is feeling?” It comes out as a question, and she focuses her eyes on something over Cullen’s shoulder, not meeting his gaze.

“It’s well enough, thank you, Rose.” She bites on the inside of her lip as he says her name. It sounds so much softer when he says it, so much more beautiful in his voice than in Gavin’s. She still doesn’t look at him. “We really do have enough food if you’d like to stay.”

“Oh, no, thank you. I wouldn’t want to impose.” She snaps her gaze to Gavin, missing the way Cullen’s little smile drops off of his face. “It was nice to meet you, messere.” She salutes him, a habit she’s picked up since joining the Inquisition, and disappears back the way she came, eyes burning with unbidden tears.


	12. POV: Gavin Hawke

Gavin watches Rose run away from Cullen with barely disguised amusement. The barrier spell worried him, at first. After everything Cullen said to him about Rose, he thought they were slowly (as is Cullen’s way) becoming an item.

The barrier spell just showed Rose is jumpy but has good instincts--instincts she followed up on by letting the barrier drop as soon as she realized their “attacker” was Cullen.

Gavin allows himself to feel flattered that she put the barrier spell around him as well.

As soon as Cullen stops staring after Rose and directs his attention back to Gavin, the mage asks, “Does she always do that?”

Cullen pours himself a glass of wine and settles in one of the extra chairs, not even bothering to fight with Gavin over the seating arrangement. “Run away?”

“I meant the barrier spell, but I’ll take an answer to both.” Gavin gives Cullen a moment to pull himself together, focusing on the food Cullen brought instead of watching the man’s face cycle through its usual stages of red before he can speak.

The stew is something Gavin missed in Kirkwall. It’s very Fereldan, thick and delicious, full of vegetables and potatoes and meat that, anywhere other than Skyhold, would be unidentifiable. It’s delicious, and Gavin is so focused on the taste that he almost misses when Cullen finally answers his question.

“She does that when someone startles her. We... we were at Kinloch Hold together. During the Blight.”

Gavin freezes with another spoonful halfway to his mouth. “When it fell?”

Cullen nods, tearing off a chunk of bread to dip in his stew. “She can be jumpy.”

“Well, of _course_ she would be. Just being around the Bull makes my skin itch sometimes.”

The two men fall into companionable silence, comfortable together after everything they’ve been through together even if they haven’t seen each other since Gavin left Kirkwall four years ago.

Gavin keeps glancing up at Cullen as they eat, watching the way Cullen studiously doesn’t look at either the reports on the desk or at the door Rose disappeared through. He keeps his face down, staring at his food until Gavin finally loses his patience.

“Look,” he starts, and Cullen immediately starts to glare at him. Gavin ignores it, as always. “Until I met her just now, I thought the two of you were... _involved_.”

Cullen opens his mouth to say something, probably to protest, but Gavin ignores that too. “She was scared of me until she heard my name, and she was scared of you _until she saw your face_. I’d say that’s a good sign.” Cullen just grunts, returning his attention to his food, so Gavin presses on. “You should probably say something to her.”

Cullen sighs heavily enough for it to sound like a growl, and he reaches for and downs his wine in one gulp. Gavin arches one eyebrow and leans back in his chair to wait for Cullen’s embarrassment to abate.

He’s always been like this. Gavin takes a moment to wonder how he ever managed to push past the man’s exterior enough to call him a friend. Fighting alongside each other to stop Meredith helped, certainly. So did repeatedly just showing up in his office during Kirkwall’s reconstruction.

Somehow.

“I don’t think you’re really in a place to be giving advice, Hawke.”

Gavin rolls his eyes. “I spent long enough pining after Fenris to understand what it looks like, Cullen. Come on!” He throws one hand up and out, a wide gesture to show the level of exasperation he’s already reached with Cullen. “The world is ending! Darkspawn magisters are plotting to overthrow the Inquisition! Templars are smuggling _and using_ red lyrium! What better time could there be?”

“All of those things are reasons _not_ to pursue something with her, Hawke.” Cullen clenches his jaw as his declaration just makes Gavin’s grin grow.

“But you want to.” Gavin’s voice takes on a sing-song quality that sets Cullen’s teeth on edge, but it’s his words that make Cullen blush.

“She was a child last time I saw her,” Cullen points out, putting his drink down and reaching across the desk to pull Hawke’s from his hand. He puts everything back on the tray and shoves the whole thing into Gavin’s hands, forcing him to take it. “Now she works for the Inquisition. It would be... inappropriate.”

Gavin takes the hint and stands with the tray of dishes. “She’s not that much younger than you, Commander. She may have seemed a child then, but she isn’t now. You shouldn’t let her slip away.”

He turns, leaving Cullen standing with another objection on his open lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk some sense into him for us, Gavin.


	13. POV: Cullen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We only have four updates this week (counting this one) before I take off on a vacation with my sisters.

Gavin’s words tumble around in Cullen’s mind, even after he leaves to go to the Western Approach with Stroud. The Inquisition deserves his full attention; even a small mistake at this level could mean deaths by the hundreds or even thousands. Distractions could be deadly.

But at the same time... his mind keeps drifting to Rose when he least expects it. He thinks of the way she reaches for him without hesitating now, always ready with a spell to help his withdrawals, how she sits with him when it’s a bad day to help him sleep.

It’s too much for him to think about. Too much to consider. There are too many possible ways for everything to go wrong, too many possible ways for him to hurt her again.

He redoubles his focus on Inquisition matters. He meets with his troops to oversee their training. He meets with Josephine and Leliana to make decisions on what they can without the Inquisitor present. He pushes past the pains, both in his head and in the rest of his body, tries to call for Rose less and less often.

In reality, he calls for her more often, and it seems she’s happy to oblige him, always arriving with a smile, sometimes with a small snack to try and coax him into eating.

She makes him feel... safe. Cared for. Like maybe, just maybe everything he’s been through--the fall of the Circle, Kirkwall, Meredith, quitting lyrium--is all worth it, because it brought her to him.

He doesn’t know how to tell her that. He doesn’t know if he should.

She doesn’t give him the chance.

She’s taken to visiting him after dinner each day to make sure he’s eaten and to see if his head pains him. For even the tiniest headache, no matter how tired she is, she offers him a smile and a healing spell.

If the ache is particularly bad, or if it comes with a fever, she sits with him as he rests his head on his desk and runs her fingers through his hair for a few blessed moments. It becomes the highlight of his week.

Sometimes they sit in silence, but more often she uses the opportunity to chat idly about her day. She fills him in on the little bits of gossip from the clinic that he really couldn’t care less about, but he enjoys listening to, just to hear her speak.

Today, as he rests his head on his folded arms, letting her pet his head, not caring in the slightest if any of his recruits wanders in to see him in such an unprofessional position, she decides it’s time to tell him a secret.

“I used to have a crush on you, you know,” she says, voice as casual as if she were discussing the weather. “Back in the Circle.”

He opens his eyes and tries not to tense under her hands. “Did you?”

“Mmm,” she acknowledges, continuing to run her fingers through his hair. It’s getting longer now, the curls harder to control, and she loves it. “Yes. A lot of us apprentices did, actually, but you only had eyes for Sophie Amell.”

He does tense this time, and he sits up to look at her. “You knew about that?” he demands, not at all caring for the way her eyes light up with barely suppressed laughter at his reaction. She’s sitting on his desk directly next to him, close enough for her foot to rest on his chair next to his thigh. Her other foot doesn’t reach the floor.

“Everyone did, I think. It was...” she pauses, her cheeks heating up slightly, but she holds his gaze. “I was going to say ‘adorable,’ but I certainly didn’t think so at the time.”

Cullen sighs heavily and covers his face with one hand. His eyes closed, he mutters, “I was chosen to deliver the final blow at her Harrowing. If she’d failed.”

Rose makes a small, clucking noise of sympathy, and he thinks he feels her fingertips graze his shoulder. When he looks over his fingers, her hands are back in her lap. “That must have been hard for you,” she murmurs. “She didn’t fail, though. She became the Hero of Ferelden.”

“Yes. She did.” Cullen frowns at the subject but quickly snaps his attention back to Rose when he feels her fingers brushing a curl away from his temple. 

Her eyebrows are pinched together as she stares at him, and she doesn’t pull her hand away from his face as she says, “I’m sorry, Cullen. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He leans into her touch. “You didn’t. I’m sorry. It’s just...” he sighs softly. “I try not to let myself think about the Circle.”

A wry smile twists her lips and she drops her hand to her lap. “I understand. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience for either of us.”

He eyes her hand for a moment, then moves to cover it with his. He hears her suck in a breath, but when he glances up, her eyes are shining. “That was a long time ago.”

She takes another deep breath and moves her hand so that their fingers intertwine. “Cullen, I...”

He doesn’t give her time to finish her thought, leaning forward just enough to brush his lips across hers. She relaxes against his touch immediately, moving her free hand to the back of his neck, encouraging him to deepen the kiss.

He obeys, eager, the feeling of her lips making him forget all of the reasons he was convinced that this is a bad idea. Nothing matters save for her taste--tea sweetened with honey--and the fact that this is really, truly happening. 

When she lets go of his hand to bury the fingers of both hands in his hair, he moves without thinking, pulling her off of his desk and into his lap. Her surprised laugh turns into a moan when his tongue dips into her mouth, desperate suddenly to be closer to her. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of her hips, holding her tight, and she melts into him.

Cullen pulls away after a moment and rests his forehead against hers. She smiles, eyes still closed, and strokes her thumbs along his cheekbones.

“That was, um,” Cullen starts, then huffs out a breath when he realizes he doesn’t have the words to describe it. He opens his eyes and sits up straighter, watching the way Rose tries to follow him before realizing what he’s doing. “...very nice.”

Her lips, red and slightly swollen from his attentions, twist into a smirk. “If that was just ‘very nice,’ I must be more out of practice than I thought.” Before he has a chance to protest, her mouth is on him again, still smiling even as she kisses him.

She pulls away far too soon and kisses the tip of his nose. “I have to go back to the clinic,” she whispers, though she gives in when he chases her mouth for one last kiss. “I’m supposed to be in charge of the patients tonight.”

Cullen nods and reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. She’s still smiling at him, and all he wants to do is ask her to stay.

Instead: “Will I see you tomorrow?”

Her eyes dance at the question. “Do you _want_ to see me tomorrow?”

He doesn’t know if she’s teasing, looking for validation, or just wants to hear him say it. He doesn’t mind. “Of course,” he murmurs. “I always want to see you.” His cheeks start to burn even as he speaks, but the way her face lights up and her cheeks darken make up for it.

She drops her eyes to his fur collar, which she busies herself smoothing. “I could bring you dinner?”

It sounds like a question, so he answers it. “I’d like that.”

“Oh!” she giggles and ducks her head, quickly sliding out of his lap to stand. She smooths out her tunic as she moves, then turns to face him again. “I’ll, uh... I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” She hesitates and opens her mouth like she might speak, then shakes her head slightly before leaning down to brush her lips across his.

“Be well,” he whispers, barely loud enough for her to hear, but it still earns him a smile tossed over her shoulder on her way out of his office.

Maker, but he’s a lucky man.


	14. POV: Rose

Rose dons her best tunic and leggings for dinner with the commander, not that it means much. She doesn’t have many pairs of clothing, especially not after escaping Haven in as much of a panic as she had, so her “best” now means “cleanest.”

She tries to make up for it by braiding her hair, but she and Ceri can’t make anything hold, so she gives up.

It’s never been a problem before now, anyway.

_It will be fine._

Rose arrives in Cullen’s office with a tray of food and drink at the usual time, and is pleasantly surprised to see that Cullen has removed his armor and is waiting for her in a pair of trousers and a loose tunic.

She blushes as she looks away from the triangle of skin she can see peeking out of the tunic’s collar, hinting at a thatch of golden chest hair. This isn’t the first time she’s seen him out of his armor, but it’s the first time he’s been fully awake and feeling well enough that there’s the promise of _more._

Her hands are shaking as they sit and eat, her appetite nearly gone. Cullen picks at his food as well, tongue tripping over words that were coming easier the day before. 

Exasperated, Rose downs her wine and refills her glass. She sits back in her chair, crossing her legs so that she can bounce one foot freely in the air. Cullen raises his eyebrows and mimics her posture, stretching one leg out between them instead of crossing as she does.

She considers her words for a moment before speaking. “We should probably t-talk. About, about us.” She purses her lips against her stammering, but Cullen doesn’t mention it.

“Do you have something in mind?” He rests one elbow on the arm of his chair, waiting, making sure she knows she has his full attention.

Rose nods her head and takes another deep drink of her wine. “Cullen, I’ve c-come to care about you a great, a great deal.” He opens his mouth to reply, but she speeds through the rest of her little speech before he can interrupt. “And, and it’s fine if you don’t. Feel the same way about me, I mean. I just don’t want to waste my time.” Her cheeks have never been redder, she’s sure, and she buries her face in her wine before she has time to embarrass herself further.

Before she has a chance to finish her glass, a large hand reaches into her vision and gently pulls it away. She frowns up at Cullen, only to have the expression melt away against the heat of his stare.

“Do you honestly think I haven’t come to care for you as much as you care for me?” His voice is low, distracting, and she can’t figure out how to respond. He leans forward again and grabs the arms of her chair and tugs it closer to him, close enough that he can press his lips to hers comfortably.

She smiles against him, reaching forward to pull him closer by his shirt.

He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against hers, just breathing her in, his hands still resting on the arms of her chair. She hums quietly in contentment, pulling her lower lip into her mouth to taste him. 

“I can’t believe you’re here.” 

His words burn into her mind even as she tilts her head forward to capture his lips again. This kiss is shorter, sweet, answering his unspoken question before she finds her voice.

“I’ve wanted to be here for a long time, Cullen.”

Cullen lifts his hand and runs his fingers through her hair, brushing it back from her face. She keeps her eyes on his as he studies her face, his gaze softening as he traces his fingertips along the shell of her ear, along the line of her jaw. When his hand reaches her mouth, he brushes her lower lip with his thumb.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Her lips twitch into a grin. “Why didn’t you?”

His hand drops to her lap and he takes one of her hands in his. “I didn’t know if you could trust me.” His eyes drop to their twined fingers.

“Oh, Cullen.” She takes her free hand and grabs his chin, forcing his eyes back to hers. “I couldn’t at first. But you showed me you’re still a good man.”

His eyes fall again and he pulls away from her to rub the back of his neck. She bites her lip, waiting for him to speak again, suddenly painfully aware of the space between them. She wants to reach across it, to hold him and chase away whatever thought is making him afraid.

“Thank you,” he says finally, forcing himself to look at her again. She narrows her eyes at him as he continues, “I know who I am, but I want you to know that you don’t have to fear me. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Rose gives in to her impulse then, crossing the new distance between them to settle in his lap, just like she did the day before. He leans back to give her room, resting his hands on her waist.

“I’m not afraid of you.” She rests her forehead against his, holding his face still with her hands on his cheeks. She brushes her thumbs across his cheekbones. “I trust you.” 

Cullen sighs heavily, his breath tickling her skin. She suppresses a shiver then moves to kiss his forehead. “I trust you,” she whispers again, then kisses his nose. “I trust _you_.”

She tries to kiss his cheek, but he moves his face to capture her lips with his. This kiss is harder than the others they’ve shared, more insistent, his fingers digging hard into her hips to pull her closer to him.

She sighs, almost a moan, sliding her tongue across his lip and then into his mouth. His hand slides up her side, fingers splayed against her, warm through her tunic.

She breaks away, moving to kiss the underside of his jaw. “Cullen?”

“Mmm?” His breath catches in his throat as she catches his pulse between her teeth. 

“I don’t have to go anywhere tonight.”

Cullen’s surprised laugh turns into a growl as she laves his bitten skin with her tongue, running her hand down his chest as she does so.

“Good.” 


	15. POV: Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the rating change. Here's the extra long smut-only chapter as promised.

Cullen stands, suddenly, lifting Rose easily in his arms as he crosses the room to his ladder. She squeaks, laughing, clutching his shoulders to keep him from dropping her.

He deposits her on the ladder, waiting until she has a solid hold on the rungs before stepping away. “I need to lock the doors.” She nods at him before climbing the ladder, listening to his firm footsteps circling the room, the latches clicking as he secures them.

She barely has time to light the few candles scattered around the room when Cullen’s behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck. She presses back against him, tilting her head to the side to allow him room to work.

His hands splay against her waist, smoothing up over her stomach to her breasts. Every inch he touches feels like it’s on fire, and Rose can’t help the moan that builds in her throat as he spins her around to capture her lips again.

She digs her fingers into his hair, trying desperately to pull him closer even as he slides his warm hands under her tunic to rest against the bare skin of her back. She stretches against him, trying to touch as much of him as possible, too overwhelmed by the sensation of him, finally, after all of these years, to think clearly.

He nudges her towards the bed and she complies, boneless, stopping only when her knees hit the edge.

She puts her hands flat on his chest and pushes him away, just enough to look up at him. “Cullen, I haven’t--I mean, I _have,_ but it’s been--” she stops and bites her lip, cheeks flushing darker as she looks up at him.

His breathing is heavy but his hands gentle as they cradle her face. “Do you want to stop?”

She blinks up at him. “Maker, no! I just... thought you needed to know?”

His laugh is short and relieved. “Of course,” he murmurs, just before ducking down to kiss her lips once more. Even his kiss is softer now, his fingers dancing across every inch of bare skin he can find.

He turns them and sits on the edge of the bed, tugging on her hands to encourage her to join him. She complies immediately, settling in his lap with her knees on either side of his hips. His hands find their way back under her tunic, and she leans back to pull it off over her head.

She drops it blindly to the floor and reaches for the ties holding her breast band closed. Cullen’s hands bat hers away and he fingers the string for a moment before looking up at her.

“May I?”

Her lips twist into a smile, but Cullen waits for her nod to continue. He unravels the knot and lets the material slip to the floor, forgotten immediately as he runs a calloused hand up smooth skin.

She lets loose a quiet, impatient whine as he palms her breast with one hand and slips the other into the waist of her leggings, fingers ghosting across her ass. The sound makes him growl in response, ducking his head down to leave open-mouthed kisses across her naked shoulder, moving until he can take one pink nipple into his mouth.

His mouth worships her form, drawing gasps and moans from her as easily as breathing, working her until her fingers tug sharply at his hair. He looks up, eyes heavy, to see dark marks scattered across her pale skin, marking her from her breasts to her throat.

“Cullen,” she breathes, his name a prayer on her lips. She tugs on the fabric bunched under her fingers. “Take this off. Please.”

He smiles and obeys, tugging his shirt off with one hand before immediately returning his attentions to her mouth. He bites at her lower lip, pulling on it before smoothing over the swollen skin with his tongue.

“Oh, Cullen,” she breathes again, running both hands across the defined muscles of his chest and stomach. His skin is heated under her touch, almost too warm, and she presses against him until he lays flat on his back.

She props herself up with one hand on either side of his head, her hair falling around his face, and leans in until their noses bump together.

His face lights up with a smile as his eyes roam over her face, drinking in the relaxed way she gazes down at him. His smile disappears into a gasping moan as she sits up, pressing her core against his hardness, grinding in tight circles. 

His hands fall to her ass, squeezing her supple flesh through her leggings before grunting his irritation.

Without speaking, Cullen surges up, wrapping his arms around her to flip them over. He lays her down on his blankets, one hand cradling her head until he’s certain she’s comfortable, then sits up on his knees to look down at her.

She blinks up at him as he hesitates, then relaxes completely as he runs his hands down her legs. He removes one of her shoes, then the other, dropping them on the floor before reaching up to hook his fingers in her leggings and her smalls at once.

He hesitates again, looking up at her for permission. She nods, lifting her hips a little to help him, and his face breaks out into a grin as he strips her remaining clothing off, tossing it behind him to the floor.

With her bare before him, he exhales heavily out of his nose. He leans forward, balancing himself up on one elbow, using his other hand to caress her skin. He starts at one knee and traces a line up across her thigh, along her hipbone, accidentally tickling her stomach with his light touch, before skimming between her breasts to reach her face.

He cups her cheek and turns her face toward his, lightly tracing his thumb over her skin. She licks her lips and arches toward him, running one hand into his hair and hooking one leg around his waist to encourage him to lean closer.

He obeys, pressing her into the mattress, settling heavily between her legs. She runs her fingers down his back, digging blunt nails into his muscles. He growls softly, biting at her throat before rising up on his elbows, kissing her way down to her breasts, pausing there to briefly pull each nipple into his mouth before resuming his path.

He nudges her thighs apart with his elbows, making room for his shoulders between them. She props herself up on one elbow to watch as he leans his head down and presses a chaste kiss to her folds, teasing her, before returning with more enthusiasm than Rose thought possible.

She falls back onto the mattress with a soft _thump_ as Cullen works her expertly, tasting her, his tongue alternating between dipping inside of her and teasing at her little bundle of nerves.

She shudders under his attentions, squirming as he tightens his grip on her hips. He works tirelessly, the feeling of her coming apart under him keeping his cock hard and aching in his trousers. He presses his hips against the mattress, rutting against it to relieve the pressure as he pleasures her.

When he’s certain she’s near the brink, he shifts, sliding first one finger inside of her, then another. He moves them inside of her in time with his tongue on her clit, pushing her ever closer to the edge.

She comes with a cry, tightening her thighs around Cullen’s head as he continues working her with his tongue. He doesn’t even try to keep the smirk off of his face as she pushes him away with one foot on his shoulder.

He crawls back up her body, pausing to wipe his face on his hand before kissing her firmly, immediately pressing his tongue into her mouth. She moans as she tastes herself on his lips, in his mouth, and she wraps her legs around his waist to encourage him to continue.

When she makes a quiet sound of distress, Cullen immediately breaks their kiss, putting distance between them to look at her face. “Rose?”

It takes her a moment to open her eyes, but she greets him with a smile when she finally does. “Cullen, love,” she murmurs. “You’re still wearing your pants.”

He arches his eyebrows at her. “It appears so.”

He ducks down to kiss her again, and she lets him before pushing him away with both hands on his chest. “Take them off. Now.”

“Yes ma’am,” he murmurs, his smile turning into a smirk, and he sits up to finish undressing.

Rose kneels on the bed behind him, smoothing her hands over his back, admiring the muscles even as she takes stock of the scars crossing his otherwise flawless skin. She leans closer and presses a kiss to one that crosses his shoulder, following it down towards his spine. At its end, she moves to an uneven scar on his other shoulder, a pattern she recognizes as mage fire.

She wants to worship him as he worshiped her, and as soon as he’s naked she moves, pushing him onto his back on the bed. She bites her lip as she gazes down at him, momentarily uncertain about where to begin. She wants to taste all of him, to show him how much he means to her, how much she trusts him.

As if he senses her indecision, Cullen reaches out to pull her over him. She settles on top of him, hands on either side of his head as she straddles him. She teases her cunt against him, letting him feel how ready she is without giving him the friction he craves.

“Are you ready?” She bends down as though to kiss his lips, hesitating at the last moment to flick her tongue against them instead. He arches up to capture her mouth, but she pulls away, grinning. 

“Maker, yes.” He digs his fingers into her ass, thrusting futilely towards her. 

She bends down again and bites at the underside of his jaw. “Do you want me?” She presses against his cock again, and he whimpers under her. His fingers grip her tighter, his arms trembling with restraint.

He could take control back if he wanted. He could flip them over and fuck her into the mattress, make her forget both of their names if he tried.

He doesn’t.

“Rose, _please_.”

She rewards him, first with a bruising kiss, then by rising up on her knees and sinking down onto his cock in one smooth motion.

They cry out together as he stretches her, fills her completely. She rests her hands on his chest, fingernails digging into the pale, scarred flesh, as she waits for her body to adjust to the intrusion. His fingers relax after a moment, releasing her from their bruising grip and rubbing soothing lines up and down her thighs.

After a moment, she rolls her hips experimentally, and they each groan again. She leans harder against his chest, screwing her eyes shut as she starts to move.

Cullen’s hands land on her hips again, guiding her, helping her move the way he’s been dreaming. She follows his lead, learning his rhythm, tiny noises of pleasure escaping her lips with each thrust of his hips.

He watches her move on top of him, her breasts bouncing, amazed at how good she feels, at how beautiful she looks.

Confident that she’s ready for him, he sits up, surging forward to grasp her lips. Their teeth hit and she hisses in pain before he soothes it with his tongue. As she moans, opening her mouth to him, he flips them once more.

She lands on the mattress with her thighs wide for him, and he hooks one of her knees around his arm, holding her open. He sets a steady, demanding rhythm, grunts of effort and pleasure leaving him with each breath.

Rose runs her hand down his chest, scratching at his skin, before letting it rest between them. She circles her own fingers over her clit, chasing her pleasure. Her other hand wraps around his arm, her eyes fluttering closed as she loses herself in the sensations.

Cullen’s eyes are glued to their joining, watching her fingers play as his cock disappears inside of her with each thrust. He bites the inside of his lip, hard, waiting, praying that she finds release again.

She does, tightening around him as she calls for him, fingernails digging into his arm.

He continues moving as she rides out her orgasm, then pulls away from her, fucking into his fist until he comes, gasping her name, onto her thigh.

He collapses on top of her, face against her neck, heedless of the sweat and spend that’s between their bodies.

She wraps her arms around him and kisses his temple before laughing. The sound is infectious, and Cullen finds himself chuckling against her skin without knowing why.

“That was even better than I imagined,” she breathes, nuzzling against him. Her arms tighten around him, one hand moving to stroke his back as his breathing calms.

He presses a kiss to the side of her throat, and she hums at the sensation. “Spent a lot of time imagining it, did you?” he asks, sleepiness taking away the last of any shyness he might have felt.

Rose coughs lightly, clearing her throat. “Perhaps.”

He laughs again, quieter this time, fighting the pull of sleep. They need to clean up, to move under the blankets. She’ll freeze in the open air of his room. “Maker’s breath, you are a wonderful woman.”

She sighs, contentment seeping deep into her body. “Cullen, I...” she stops, reconsiders, and starts again. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he mumbles, voice slurring as sleep claims him despite his best efforts. “I should be thanking you...”


	16. POV: Rose

Rose stays busy during the days in the clinic, managing the other healers, making potions, and healing the various ailments and minor injuries that filter through. 

She can’t remember the last time she’s been so happy. She doesn’t think she has been, really, and when they receive a new influx of mages from the Free Marches, she greets them with big smiles and open arms.

Mages who have been avoiding the fighting as best they can, hiding in Rivain, Antiva, even Starkhaven, are finally coming to assist the Inquisition. They arrive in twos and threes, frightened and dirty, but with an undercurrent of hope in their faces that Rose recognizes and encourages.

The Inquisitor has transformed one of Skyhold’s towers into a modified Circle of Magi, with dorm-style rooms, a common area full of comfortable seating, and _no templars._ Josephine helps find them all places to sleep, Fiona helps find them job assignments, and Rose soon finds herself with several talented new healers who have been keeping themselves safe and alive through their journey.

Rose sets them up with assignments from Adan to create some of the Inquisitor’s extra-strength regeneration potions, moving Ceri to ensure their stock of contraceptive herbs is kept high enough that they won’t run out--the longer the Inquisition is in Skyhold, the more people are requesting them with red cheeks.

Falan, a Rivaini ice mage, immediately makes herself useful helping as an outbreak of influenza rolls through the troops. Her cold hands soothe the soldiers as she eases their pain. Little can be done for such a simple disease, but those with higher fevers need special care to keep from becoming dehydrated.

Rose stays up overnight with one of the mages who came from the Anderfels through Kirkwall, Clove, working to help some of the more seriously ill patients who developed pneumonia even under Falan’s tender care.

When the last one finally falls asleep, Rose sits by his side on a low stool, one hand on his chest, feeling the way his breath struggles in and out of his lungs.

Clove appears by her side, sitting on a second stool, and passes her a cup of steaming tea. “Is it always like this?”

Rose spares a smile for her and sips at the tea. “Usually it’s more simple. Mostly injuries from construction and training. Handing out teas and giving women instructions on how to use them.”

Clove rolls her shoulders and moves her neck until it pops. “Guess I got here just in time.”

“Mmm.” Rose sips her tea again, gazing down at the soldier struggling for breath. “I’m thankful. I’ve been rather busy.”

“I thought you said it’s usually simple here?” Clove leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees, a curious look on her face.

Rose blushes. “I... met someone here.”

“Oh?”

The soldier wheezes and both mages turn to look at him. Clove reaches out a hand, but he calms almost immediately.

“We used to know each other in my Circle before, but we hadn’t seen each other in years.”

“One of the other mages? Does he work here too?”

“Mmm, no,” Rose says slowly. “He’s the commander. Cullen Rutherford.”

Clove’s mug shatters as she drops it in favor of grabbing Rose’s shoulders. She shakes her, pulling her attention away from the soldier. Rose freezes, staring at Clove with unblinking eyes.

“ _Knight_ -Commander Cullen Rutherford?” Rose can’t speak, so Clove shakes her again. “From the Gallows?”

Rose’s mouth drops open but no sound comes out.

“Rose, he’ll make you _tranquil_.” Clove’s fingers dig into Rose’s shoulders painfully, dragging her back to the present.

Rose stands, pushing Clove away with a hard shove, nearly knocking her off of the stool. “He wouldn’t.”

Clove surges to her feet, stepping forward to grab at Rose again. “You’ll be safe as long as you don’t make him angry, but as soon as you cross that line, he’ll stamp the brand on your forehead.”

Rose steps back, trying to break Clove’s hold on her without spilling her tea on their patient, but Clove just follows her. “Clove, what are you even--let go of me!” She bumps into the wall and tries to push Clove away.

“How could the Inquisitor allow this? She tells the mages that they’ll be _safe_ here only to bring them into another Gallows!” Her eyes are unfocused, no longer seeing Rose’s face. “He’s going to tranquil those he can and kill the rest of us, just like he did in Kirkwall.”

Rose kicks Clove’s shin, startling the woman into letting go. Arms free, Rose slaps her, and Clove falls, landing hard on the floor. The sick patient starts, sitting up and starting to cough, gasping for breath.

Rose falls to her knees, resting her cup on the floor, and places soothing hands on his back, trying to ignore the way her whole body is shaking or the way Clove is scrambling backward on her hands and feet.

When he calms, Rose stands and levels a glare at Clove. The other woman has tears streaking her cheeks, but Rose crosses the room without regard for them, grabbing the loose fabric of her mage robes to tug her out of the room.

She pulls her along until they find an empty room, throwing her in and slamming the door behind her. “What _was_ that?”

Clove sinks onto an empty bed and covers her face with her hands. Rose stands by the door, arms crossed to hide their trembling. She tries to make herself seem taller, more imposing, but it’s nearly impossible with the tears making her eyes red.

“Clove, you cannot attack me in front of patients and accuse the Commander of the Inquisition of _killing mages_.”

“But, you don’t know--” Clove looks up at Rose, eyes wide, begging her to listen. “In Kirkwall, the things that happened.” She stops and takes a deep breath before trying to continue. “I barely escaped with my life. The templars there made mages tranquil for no reason, for just _looking_ at them wrong. I don’t think you understand everything we went through. They wanted to _annul_ the circle, Rose. They declared the Rite of Annulment and tried to kill all of us.”

Rose clenches her jaw as Clove speaks. “He was Meredith’s second in command. Nothing happened that he wasn’t aware of. Mages _died._ ”

“He’s not that man anymore. He isn’t a templar.”

Clove sneers. “You can’t leave the Order. He’ll always be a templar. I watched him put the brand on Heinrich’s forehead. You can’t trust a man who would do that.”

Rose shakes her head. “You need to leave.” 

Clove jumps to her feet and takes a step forward, but Rose puts her hand up and uses a mind blast spell to throw her back against the far wall. She hits the stones with a dull thud and crumples. 

Rose leaves her there, slamming the door behind her. She hesitates for only a moment before climbing to the top of the clinic to drag Ceri out of bed to sit with the sick soldiers before making her way to the commander’s tower.

He’s still awake when she pushes her way in through the doors, sitting behind his desk, squinting at a letter. He drops it as soon as he sees her, smiling, reaching out with one hand to draw her in.

She steps into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head against his. He strokes her back, frowning where she can’t see.

“Why are you trembling?” He pulls away to look at her, putting his hands on her waist to hold her where he can see her. She chews on the inside of her lip, considering, but her hands are shaking too hard for her to her not to say anything.

She sighs heavily. “One of my healers... ah, attacked me. A little.”

Cullen stiffens and stands suddenly, keeping his hands on her waist as she sways away from him. She puts her hands flat on his chest to hold him still. “It’s fine, I took care of it.”

“Who was it? I’ll--”

He isn’t looking at her, his eyes glaring out in the direction of the clinic, and she thumps him lightly in the center of his chest. “You’ll what, Cullen?” His mouth opens as he looks down at her, but he doesn’t speak, and her next words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. “Make her tranquil?”

He sits back down, heavily, his hands falling into his lap. “I would never...”

“ ‘Never’?” she repeats. “She said she watched you put the brand on a mage named Heinrich?” 

He covers his face with his hands immediately. He remembers Heinrich clearly, a young man who’d been suspected of being a blood mage. Had he been? Meredith had been certain, said she’d had evidence. Heinrich had tried to fight them but hadn’t become an abomination in his final moments before tranquility. He hadn’t resorted to blood magic either, but two other templars held his arms still while a third stood to the side to keep his mana drained before the brand was placed.

Cullen swallows hard and looks up. “He was a blood mage.”

Rose nods down at him, face pale. “What happened in Kirkwall, Cullen? What did you do?”

He reaches out for her, but she steps back, and a tear slips from her eye. He watches helplessly as it slips down her cheek and drips off of her chin. She doesn’t move to wipe it away.

“My Knight-Commander, Meredith, she... she fed my hatred of mages, after Kinloch.” Rose flinches away, turning from him as he speaks. “She had me on three times the normal dose of lyrium. She didn’t... she wasn’t merciful.” Cullen reaches out for her again, and she ignores him. “Rose, please.”

She clenches her jaw and doesn’t look at him, staring instead at the candles burning on his desk. “Rose, I’m not that man anymore. That’s why I left the Order. It’s why I quit taking lyrium. Rose, you know this.”

Rose takes a deep, shuddering breath, and scrapes her knuckles across her forehead. “She... the healer, was trying to convince me that I’m not safe with you. That you would make me tranquil.”

“I wouldn’t. Rose, I would never.” Cullen’s hands are in fists on the arm of his chair. He wants to take her in his arms and soothe the fear that this other mage has brought out in her, but he can’t. She wouldn’t let him. “Please, Rose.”

She hesitates, trying to choose between turning to the warmth of his arms or the promised safety of her old room. “You wouldn’t now, but you would have in Kirkwall. If I was there. If she told you to.”

Cullen blinks hard at her words, nausea building in him just at the idea. If Rose had been in the Gallows, he wouldn’t have looked twice at her. If being at Kinloch hadn’t broken her spirit, being at the Gallows certainly would have.

He hangs his head. He owes her the truth. “Yes.”

She nods once and licks her lips. She needs space to think, to remember how to feel safe with him. Panic wells in her chest, her gut trying to tell her she needs to run, she needs to hide.

At Kinloch she slept under her bed when she felt like this, pulling her spare blanket down with her to soften the stone floor. 

At Skyhold, she can walk away. She can leave and never come back.

“I’m s-sorry, Cullen.” Her voice is soft, and his head dips even lower as she speaks. “I need, I need some t-time.”

He looks up, finally, meeting her gaze. His eyes are wet but no tears grace his cheeks the way they do hers. She stares at him for a long moment, wavering again, wanting nothing more than to bury her face in his chest, to let him soothe the old hurt clawing at her mind.

She turns and leaves him alone, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Cullen waits until she’s gone before slamming his fist into the top of his desk, bruising his knuckles.

Rose is the brightest spot in his life, the one thing that makes him feel like everything he’s been through--Kinloch, Kirkwall, all of it--might be worth it, because it brought him to her. Their relationship blossomed during his new beginning, the first time he was able to do anything for himself after a lifetime in the Templar Order.

It seems only fitting that, along with the rest of the good things the Maker has blessed him with, it would end in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes.
> 
> Next update December 20.


	17. POV: Ceri Adaar

When Rose drags herself out of bed the next day, she doesn’t bother hiding the fact that something’s wrong. She couldn’t even if she’d tried; the redness and shadows around her eyes would have given her away.

Ceri takes one look at her and drops the soldier’s hand she’s holding. She crosses the room and wraps her arms around Rose immediately, the taller mage nearly dwarfing her. Rose rests her forehead against Ceri’s shoulder and begins to cry immediately, making the sick soldier’s eyes widen uncomfortably.

“Oh, shh, shh,” Ceri murmurs, petting Rose’s hair. “Come with me.” She takes Rose’s hand in hers and pulls her away from their patients. 

Ceri pulls Rose into one of the few unused rooms and shuts the door behind them. “What happened to you?” She puts her hands on her hips, waiting for Rose to speak.

“Clove attacked me.” Ceri stiffens, hands turnings to fists. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Rose finishes immediately, wiping at her tear-stained face. “I dismissed her. But, Ceri, she knew Cullen from her Circle. In Kirkwall. She said...” She stops as the tears come again, and she puts one hand over her eyes to hide herself from Ceri’s too understanding expression.

“Did he do something to her?” Ceri’s voice is gentle, not accusing, but it makes Rose sink down onto the empty cot behind her anyway.

“Did you know what happened in Kirkwall?”

Ceri sits next to Rose and puts her arm around her shoulders, pulling the smaller girl closer. “It’s where Anders blew up the Chantry,” she says softly. “I wasn’t there, but I know what was going on in the Gallows. Didn’t you?”

Rose shakes her head. “I didn’t know anyone from the Gallows. I hadn’t even met any of them until last night.” She sighs heavily, voice shaking. “I asked him... Maker’s mercy, I asked him if he would have made me tranquil in Kirkwall if his Knight-Commander had told him to, and he said _yes._ ”

Ceri clucks her tongue softly, rubbing slow circles on Rose’s back. “Of course he would have. He’s a templar.”

Rose wilts, propping her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hands. When she speaks again, her voice is wet and muffled. “He isn’t a templar anymore.”

“They’re always templars, Rose. You know that.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Rose just absorbing Ceri’s caring touch. When she pulls herself back together, she wipes her face off again with her sleeves. “Okay. Okay. I’m okay.” She breathes slowly, hardening herself to face the day.

“You can go back to bed if you need to,” Ceri murmurs. “I can take care of things today.”

Rose shakes her head firmly. “No. You were up all night, you need to rest. I can handle it. I’m fine.”

Ceri purses her lips but doesn’t argue, instead turning to face Rose. “Turn around. Let me fix your hair.”

Rose wrinkles her forehead but obeys, moving so that her back is to Ceri. Ceri’s fingers move quickly, pulling Rose’s short hair into an Orlesian-style braid that gathers all of her loose hair out of her face. The feeling of another’s fingers in her hair relaxes Rose, and by the time Ceri’s finished, Rose even has a little smile on her face.

“Thank you.”

Ceri winks. “Of course, darling.”

She stands and offers Rose her hand. They walk together down to the clinic’s main room, and Rose relaxes slightly when she realizes no one is waiting for them.

She drops Ceri’s hand and sits down behind her desk. Just as she’s about to send Ceri away, the clinic’s door opens and Rylen is leaning casually against the frame.

Rose raises her eyebrows. “Knight-Captain.”

Rylen winks at her. “Madam Healer.” She wrinkles her nose at the title, but Rylen just smiles. “I need a potion for Commander Cullen.”

“Ah. Migraine?” Rylen nods, and Rose bites her lip. She turns to the cupboard and unlocks the drawer with the pain relievers, pulling one out. She turns to walk out of the clinic, already starting to tremble, when Rylen suddenly shifts uncomfortably.

“He, ah, just asked for the potion. Ma’am.” Rylen’s smile is thin like he knows what he’s really saying, and Rose freezes.

She considers her options quickly, pressing her lips together, then turns to Ceri. “Will you take this to the Commander? Make sure he drinks it and offer him a healing spell, please. Then you can take the rest of the day.”

Ceri nods and takes the potion, tucking it into one of her many pockets. Rylen offers her his arm, and she raises an eyebrow before taking it. Rylen looks at Rose over his shoulder and winks at her, earning himself an eye roll.

He looks away before Rose sinks back down behind her desk, lowering her face into her hands once more.

Ceri walks silently alongside Rylen to Cullen’s office. He stops just before the door and salutes her as he leaves. She watches him walk away for a moment, admiring his form, before remembering herself.

She knocks on Cullen’s door and pushes through without waiting for him to invite her in. She freezes as soon as she sees into his office. The room is trashed, his desk askew, books and papers and quills scattered across the floor. Cullen’s armor is piled on the floor near the armor stand, heedlessly discarded during whatever happened the evening before.

Had all of this happened during his fight with Rose?

_No wonder she’s so shaken up._

A thumping noise from overhead draws Ceri’s attention to the ladder, and she looks up just in time to see Cullen appear in the hole in the ceiling. He slides down it easily, perfectly put together; his hair is styled with expert precision, his tunic and leggings clean, his boots polished to a shine.

Only his face gives away that anything happened the evening before, that his office doesn’t usually look like this. He blinks once at Ceri, frowning, the shadows around his eyes rivaling Rose’s. His eyes are bloodshot after a night without sleep, his jaw set in a tense line.

Ceri salutes him quickly, bowing slightly and avoiding his gaze. “Ser. I brought the potion Ser Rylen requested.”

Cullen grunts, reaching out to take it from her. He pulls the cork out with his teeth before downing the potion with a grimace. He replaces the cork and hands the vial back to her. “My thanks.”

Ceri’s eyes dart around the room. “Do you need anything else? A healing spell? Help cleaning?”

He frowns at her for a moment before shaking his head. “No, thank you. I will fix my own mess.”

She turns to leave, but his low voice stops her. “Healer... Ceri, is it?”

“Yes, Ser.”

He clenches his jaw at the title but doesn’t correct her. “The army marches on Adamant in the Western Approach in two days’ time. We need strong healers to accompany us, preferably some with experience in the field. Will you tell... will you let Healer Wedgwood know?”

Ceri nods and bows slightly. “Of course, Ser Cullen.”

She finally leaves, rolling the empty vial in her fingers, the site of Cullen’s destroyed office dancing behind her eyelids.


	18. POV: Rose

It takes more than a week to march to Adamant. More than a week of Rose walking with the army, joking and singing during the day only to drop like the dead in the evening.

She knows Cullen’s there. She even sees him, sometimes, riding his warhorse in the distance, looking regal and commanding and handsome. She can’t tell from so far away if his head is bothering him, or if his symptoms are bad, or if he’s still hurt from their last conversation.

He must be. She is.

She has little to do all day other than think about the conversation she had with Clove, then the conversation she had with Cullen. They both replay over and over as she marches with the other healers, taking turns in the wagons to preserve their energy.

 _I need time to think_ , she’d said. He was definitely giving her that, and space to go along with it.

She hasn’t even spoken to him. Ceri’s been taking medication to him when he needs it.

Her dreams are constantly about Cullen. He’s always either making the order to have her made tranquil or giving her the brand himself. Sometimes he stands above her, hands around her throat screaming that she’s becoming an abomination. Sometimes he’s simply informing her that the Rite of Annulment has been called for and that she has only minutes left to live.

She always wakes up with sweat sticking her hair to her face, nausea rolling in her gut. The cold fear doesn’t leave until she sees the morning sun rising over progressively dryer landscapes, and it returns each night.

She can’t help the nagging fear eating at her. _What if_ he makes her tranquil. _What if_ he suspects her of blood magic, that she’s using a demon to power her healing. _What if_ he thinks she’s in danger of becoming an abomination.

What then?

The army stops by Griffon Wing Keep in the Western Approach, just a day outside of Adamant, to pick up the Inquisitor and her companions and gather more supplies.

The army marches at dawn, and they arrive at Adamant at sundown.

\---

The healers stay away from the fighting, at the back of the army, keeping Rose far away from her commander. If she can even still think of him like that.

The wounded are brought to them almost as soon as they begin the siege. The first soldiers on the wall fall immediately, knocked back by demons and Wardens alike. Rose’s stomach twists in her gut as she remembers Sophie Amell--is she in the fortress too? At least King Alistair is safe in Denerim, far away from all of this.

She forgets to worry as the battle wears on. The more men and women she sees, the more focused her mind becomes until all she can see are the wounds that need to be treated. The spirit who powers her healing is beside her at all times, keeping her strength up as she saves the lives of the soldiers.

Her hands and clothes are covered in blood, it’s spattered across her face, soaking into her hair from where she had to retie her hair back. Ceri is unflaggingly by her side, drinking lyrium potions like water.

When a dragon flies overhead, everyone freezes. Even the patients watch the monster flying, some of them remembering it from Haven. Rose begins to tremble, her eyes immediately drawn back to the man under her hands, the blue of her healing magic still flowing even when she forgot where she was.

The night wears on until the fighting finally stops and Rose is called into Adamant to treat some of the Wardens. She walks among the dead and wounded, following the runner to the most seriously injured.

The Wardens just standing around waiting for something, for someone to pass judgment on what they’ve done. Whatever brought the Inquisition army all the way across Thedas.

A rift opened in the center of the keep during the battle. The Wardens stand the closest, guarding the rest of the Inquisition troops as they recover from the battle. Rose is led to a group of Wardens, and she immediately kneels down to heal the first of them.

She pushes her magic through each Warden in turn, trying to focus on their wounds and not let her magic get pulled into whatever darkness inside of each of them wants to pull her magic away.

When she finishes healing the last one, she relaxes right where she is, laying flat on her back next to the last Warden. He looks down at her with a frown, but she waves away his concern, staring up at the black expanse of the sky above her.

She’s still resting there when a commotion pulls everyone to their feet. She ducks behind the Wardens immediately, reaching into her dangerously low mana pool to pull a barrier around herself, not knowing what’s going on.

Solas spills from the rift first, covered in blood and gore. Blackwall stumbles out immediately behind him, followed by the Iron Bull. The three men turn and look back at the rift, waiting for something, for someone to follow behind them.

Hawke steps out then, nearly falling in his haste to get through, and the Inquisitor follows on his heels. She turns without hesitation and seals the rift, stretching her marked hand toward it until she’s able to pull the rift closed.

The resulting crackle of magic makes Rose’s ears pop and her skin prickle, but she lets her barrier drop. She sways slightly on her feet but stays standing, listening as Inquisitor Lavellan deals with the remains of the Wardens.

Only when the Inquisitor walks away does Rose allow herself to find somewhere to sit and rest again. The runner has left her alone with the Wardens and she doesn’t have the energy to find her way back to the rest of the healers.

She can just sleep right here. It’s fine.

Someone presses a water skin into her limp hands, waiting until she clutches it before disappearing. She drinks slowly, the water somehow still cool after everything. When her thirst is sated, she puts the skin next to her and hangs her head, sighing heavily as exhaustion settles deep into her bones.

_You’re always so tired, aren’t you?_

Rose looks up, blinking, trying to identify the source of the voice. None of the Inquisition soldiers or Wardens are looking at her, and she frowns as she pauses to listen again.

_I could help you rest, you know. I wouldn’t overwork you like everyone else. You’d only have to do the work you want. No more, no less._

A chill runs down Rose’s spine and she stands, taking several steps away from where she had been resting. Something feels wrong. How thin is the Veil here? What had the Wardens been doing?

_You don’t need to run away from me, sweetheart. I’m not going to hurt you. I only want to help._

Rose licks her lips and shakes her head hard from side to side. This isn’t happening. Not here. Not now.

_Nothing’s happening, pet. I’m just trying to help you rest._

“No. No!” Rose speaks aloud, covering her ears with her hands, trying to block the voice out. She won’t make a deal with a demon. She never has before, and she won’t start now, not on the eve of victory.

_I’m not a demon. I’m just a spirit trying to help you rest. You deserve to get some uninterrupted sleep._

_You’ve been trying to sleep a lot more since that templar broke your heart. I’ve been trying to reach you since then. You sleep but don’t rest. You just long for its sweet nothingness, for the way you feel nothing when you’re asleep. I can give you that. I can help you. Let me help you._

Tears escape Rose’s eyes as she runs blindly through Adamant, trying to get away from the thing chasing her. She wants to escape. Not from her life but from the demon.

_Not a demon. I only want to help you sleep._

“Rose? Rose, look at me.”

_Yes, look at me. I will keep you safe._

Something strong holds Rose’s arms, and she kicks at the solid body. How can a demon take shape like this? Is this another torment that Circle life didn’t prepare her for?

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

_You’ll be safe if you just give in to me. Give in, Rose._

“No!” Rose kicks again before her knees give out from under her. “No, I won’t!”

_You don’t even need to say yes, you know. I could just take you._

“Rose? Rose, look at me. Rose!” Hands ease her to the ground, hold her upright, rub circles on her back. 

_Rose. Rose. Rose._

“Rose? Please don’t listen to it. Listen to _me_. Look at me, Rose.” A struggle sounds from behind the voice and Rose trembles. “Leave her to me! Do not strike unless I command it. Leave her _to me_.”

Hands cup Rose’s face. Thumbs stroke her cheekbones. Lips press to her forehead, to her nose, to her eyelids, to the corners of her mouth. A forehead rests against hers.

She trembles.

She’s surrounded by templars here. They’ll strike her down in a second if they see her, nevermind that she isn’t an abomination yet.

_Not yet, that’s right. I’ve been watching you. Don’t you want to accept me?_

“No. I don’t want you. I want to be me.”

“I’ve got you, my darling.” Thumbs stroke her cheekbones again, the tenderness making her melt. “That’s it. Come back to me.”

Her hands raise of their own will and tangle in curls that feel so familiar. She waits for the demon to speak to her again, but the voice doesn’t come, or at least she can’t hear it over the soft murmurs floating to her ears.

She takes a deep breath, wet with tears, and opens her eyes to see Cullen holding her. His eyes are closed but he’s murmuring something, a prayer, as he waits for her to calm.

“Cullen?”

His eyes pop open and he stares into hers for a moment before wrapping his arms around her, crushing her to his chest. She clutches at his armor with her fingers, desperate to pull him closer, and sobs against his neck.

He rocks her back and forth, stroking the back of her hair. When she opens her eyes again, she can see several templars standing behind Cullen, swords in hand. They watch her, eyes narrowed, but obey Cullen’s command.

Do not strike unless I command it.

“Cullen?” Her voice is shaky, quiet, and for a moment she isn’t sure he heard her.

But of course he did. “Rose. Are you okay?”

He pulls away to study her face, eyes dancing over her skin as though looking for a physical sign of her struggle.

“If that happened at a Circle...”

“We’re not at a Circle.” Her mouth snaps shut at his words and she nods once.

She moves her hands from his back to his face, smoothing over streaks of dust marring his smooth skin. This is the first time she’s spoken to him since she left his office, but it’s obvious to her that he hasn’t been sleeping, that his headaches have come back.

She closes her eyes, hands still on his cheeks, and seeks any magic still left in her, any strength from Compassion, and releases a healing spell into him. She can feel it moving through his body, following his blood to the beat of his heart. She can feel the lyrium still built up inside of him, and she pushes at it, trying to remove it from his body, to give him more relief.

“You don’t have to do that,” he murmurs, even as he begins to sag in relief. “Rose, you’re exhausted, _stop_.”

She obeys and pulls his face to hers to kiss him between his eyes. “You saved me.”

“I love you.”

She can feel his body tense under her hands, and she watches as his cheeks heat furiously. He didn’t mean to say it, but he means it. He won’t take it back.

Rose pulls his face back to her and brushes her lips across his. Once, twice, and then again with more heat, fingernails digging into his scalp.

When she releases him, they are alone. The other templars have left them, apparently satisfied that she is no longer in danger of becoming an abomination.

“I’m sorry, Cullen.” He looks away from her and remains silent even as a wrinkle forms between his eyebrows. “I shouldn’t have left you for so long.” She smooths her thumb over the wrinkle and smiles as his golden eyes meet hers. “You’ve been fighting since Kirkwall for forgiveness, and I...”

She stops and sighs, resting her forehead against his. He closes his eyes, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back. “A templar would have let me fall and then struck me down. You would have, before. But you didn’t now. It can be hard to remember, but I’ll try. For you.”

She tilts her head until their noses brush. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I love you.”


	19. POV: Cullen (and Rose)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexual content and lyrium withdrawal.

Cullen must lead the troops and Rose must lead the healers home from Adamant. His group is smaller than it was before they left Skyhold, but they are victorious.

Busy as they are on the march, they are kept apart until even after they reach Skyhold. Cullen must meet with the other advisors and the Inquisitor to debrief and plan their next move. Rose must take stock of the healers she left behind and the state of the clinic.

When Cullen finally finds his way to bed late that night, Rose is already asleep, cuddled around his pillow, the blanket a crumpled mess hiding her form. He hesitates in the center of his room, staring down at her, before stripping down to his smalls and climbing in next to her. 

He lays on his side, facing her, and smoothes her hair away from her face. She wrinkles her nose at the contact, resisting him for a moment before she allows herself to be pulled from the Fade.

A smile lights her face when she recognizes him. She raises one arm and drapes it and the blanket over his side. He moves his hand to her waist, pressing closer on the bed, and sighs as he feels her bare skin under his fingers.

She moves even closer, closing the distance between them until her body is pressed completely against his. His fingers clutch at the soft flesh of her hips as her bare breasts meet his chest.

She waited for him completely unclothed. How long has she been in his bed like this? Ready for him?

“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” she offers finally, voice still rough. “I was going to surprise you.”

“You did surprise me,” he offers. “Thank you.”

Rose hums quietly and closes the remaining distance between them. Her lips meet his and the light pressure snaps the remaining self-control that Cullen desperately clings to whenever he sees her.

He rolls them, presses his hips between her thighs as he covers her body with his. She laughs, a delighted sound, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

He missed this. She saw him for the man he truly is and ran, just as he knew she would. When she was gone, he couldn’t think of anything but the way she feels under his hands, the way she tastes, the way she _sounds._ Even the call of lyrium pales in comparison to the way she tempted him.

The way she still tempts him. Against his better judgment, the instinct screaming inside of him that says _she’ll leave again, she can’t trust you,_ he gives in. He will glut himself on her, take his fill, satisfy himself by satisfying her until she realizes a better man waits for her.

He loves her. He worships her. He wants her to know that he would do anything for her. Anything she asked, he would give her without hesitation.

All she asks is for _him_ and he gladly gives himself to her.

He explores her completely, reacquainting himself with her body as though it might have changed. He savors every inch of skin, every taste, every kiss that leaves her breathless and writhing underneath him.

He will see her satisfied. He works her expertly, guiding her body to its peak with his fingers, then guides it again with his tongue and lips, before allowing himself to take his own pleasure.

She invites him in, their bodies moving together as though the Maker designed them to be joined. 

When her body tenses around him and his name tumbles from her lips, he spills himself inside of her, his face buried in the crook of her neck. He breathes in her scent as he relaxes on top of her. These could very well be their last moments together, and he refuses to let the opportunity pass.

She rubs circles on his back and he slowly withdraws from her, laying once more on his side. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her as tightly against himself as he can. One of his legs slips between hers, and he thinks he hears her laugh before he slips into dreams.

Tonight, his dreams are blue. They’re often the red of blood or the white of Uldred’s static cage, but tonight they’re the sickly, metallic blue of lyrium. He sees the liquid flowing around him, begging him to relent, to give up this ridiculous dream.

He isn’t a real person without the lyrium. Not anymore. It’s part of him now, in his blood and his organs. It’s in his bones and in his skin. He isn’t whole without fresh lyrium flowing through his veins.

What kind of man abandons his vows? What kind of man gives up the only power he has to protect innocent people from mages?

What if Rose turned to blood magic? What if the Inquisitor made a deal with a demon?

There are already too few templars in Skyhold. Who would stop them? Rylen? Barris? 

He’s the commander. He should be a good example to his men. What if they tried to leave the Order? What if his soldiers abandoned the Inquisition just because they wanted to mark a separation from their old lives?

How can he give less to the Inquisition, less to Rose, than he gave the chantry all those years?

He’s broken. Useless. Worthless. At least with lyrium, he can have the powers of a templar, even if he’s broken the vows time and time again.

Lying with a mage. Falling in love with her. Letting her use her magic to chase away his punishment for leaving the templars.

This is no less than he deserves.

When he wakes, he’s drenched in sweat. He immediately rolls away from Rose and stands, pacing silently around the room. The sun is just beginning to bathe Skyhold in hues of gold and pink, and he cannot wait any longer.

He cleans in the small washbasin, dresses, and leaves Rose still asleep in his bed. Cassandra will need to be told that he should start lyrium again. At least she’ll be able to find a suitable replacement for him should he need to step down as the commander.

A broken man cannot save Thedas.

\---

It’s the raised voices that finally pull Rose from her slumber. She stretches luxuriously for a moment before she realizes that the voices aren’t just speaking loudly, they’re actually yelling.

She stumbles out of Cullen’s bed and pulls on her discarded clothing from the night before, hurrying to make herself decent as she listens for a meaning behind the voices.

“You put your health and your service to the Inquisition at risk!”

The Inquisitor’s voice is followed by a loud thump and the sound of books falling to the floor.

“I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did to the chantry! I should be taking it!” Another thump sounds as Rose hastily ties her tunic closed.

“Good. Winning this war will take everything we’ve got.” Rose’s blood starts to boil as she hears Nora’s words and she dives for the hole in the floor. Her hands wrap around the outside of the ladder to slide into Cullen’s office as Nora continues: “Every soldier here has made sacrifices. Those soldiers need--no, they _deserve_ you at your best.”

Rose’s feet hit the stone floor as Nora finishes speaking. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, Inquisitor.” Cullen’s head is hanging low, his eyes firmly fixed on the vial of lyrium in his hand, so he misses it when Rose launches herself from the ladder to tackle Nora to the floor.

Rose flies through the air with a snarl, connecting solidly with Nora’s back as her arms wrap around the elf. They fall heavily together, Rose with a grunt, Nora with a scream.

Nora uses a mind blast to try and force Rose away, but the concussive air does nothing more than make her ears pop. She punches Nora across the jaw, slamming her head into the floor before Cullen wraps strong arms around her waist to pick her up.

She flails in his arms, determined to give Nora the same pain she’s condemning Cullen to, but he holds her fast.

Lightning gathers under her skin, the air growing thick with ozone as her magic concentrates in her hand. She narrows her eyes at Nora, trying to decide exactly how much trouble she would be in for letting a single bolt of lightning fly across the office to strike the Inquisitor down. She feels Cullen draw in a deep breath and then hold it, body tensing, before the spell suddenly slips away from her.

“Did you just use a fucking _Purge_ on me?” Rose demands, her anger for Nora suddenly expanding to include Cullen. She kicks at his knee with one of her feet, connecting solidly, but he only grunts and tightens his hold on her. “Put me down, you unbelievable ass.”

“Stop it,” he hisses, shaking her slightly to pull her attention away from her struggle. 

It doesn’t work. She continues glaring at the Inquisitor as the elf brushes the dust off of her clothes and straightens her tunic. “You don’t know what you’re asking of him.” She grunts as Cullen shakes her again, bare feet dangling in mid-air. “ _Your Worship,_ Cullen absolutely cannot begin taking lyrium again.”

Nora raises her chin, meeting Rose’s gaze without flinching. “He needs to function at top capacity as the commander of the Inquisition’s forces,” she explains, voice low. “He needs to take lyrium. His symptoms take away from his ability to lead his men. We must give all we can to stop Corypheus.”

“You can’t ask him to give up his _life._ Templars who remain on lyrium _lose their minds_.” Cullen’s grunt is quiet in the room, but Rose feels it in her heart. “This won’t make him _better_ it will only make him more _placid._ It isn’t like we’re fighting mages, _Your Worship_.”

The honorific sounds like a slur when Rose says it again and Nora’s nostrils flare.

“At least ask him if this is what he wants.” Rose isn’t ashamed of the way her voice breaks or of the way her body goes limp in Cullen’s arms. He sets her down, gingerly, then turns her around to face him. He tucks her head under his chin and wraps his arms around her, stroking her back gently.

She presses her face into his armor, exhausted and irritated that he’s dressed for work and she’s only just gotten out of bed. She’s trembling all over before Nora finally speaks.

“Well, Commander?”

Rose can feel his jaw clench above her, and she snakes her arms around his waist, pulling him closer. She thinks she can hear his heartbeat through his breastplate echoing in the silverite. 

He draws in a shuddering breath, then another, then he squares his shoulders. “No.”

“No, you don’t want to take lyrium?”

“Rose is correct. I... do not wish to take it and suffer the same fate as the others of the Order. Given the choice, I would rather step down as the commander than begin taking lyrium again.”

Silence falls between the three of them as Nora considers his words. “Commander, if this happens again, you will _both_ be removed from your posts and escorted from Skyhold. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Inquisitor.”

“Healer Wedgwood. Is that clear?”

Cullen releases Rose and allows her to turn. The women glare at each other for a moment, both feeling the weight of those they are trying to protect: for Rose, Cullen is all she cares about, but Nora holds all of Thedas in the palm of her left hand.

It is unbearable for each of them.

“Yes, Inquisitor.” Rose forces the words out between clenched teeth as the fight goes out of her body. 

Nora’s eyes snap back to Cullen’s. “Commander, we leave for Halamshiral in four days. Ensure that your second has everything he needs to take command while we’re gone. I know we discussed the possibility of Healer Wedgwood attending as part of our retinue, but given the circumstances, I think it would be advisable for her to stay behind.”

Cullen salutes, bowing respectfully as Nora turns on her heel to leave.

As soon as they’re alone, Cullen rounds his desk to fall heavily into his chair. Rose stays where she is, covering her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t let her.”

“I asked Cassandra to find a replacement for me.”

His words stun her into silence for only a moment. “Why would you do that?”

“I... it’s hard, Rose. It’s so hard. I think of it all the time. I ache, my fingers...” he stops and rubs his hands over his face. He sighs heavily, the sound almost a groan. “I’m not the same without it.”

She circles the desk to wrap her arms around him. He leans into her, letting her stroke her fingers through his hair even though he’s already fixed it for the day. “How long will you be in Orlais?”

He shrugs, his shoulder bumping her stomach. “We planned for two weeks, but Maker willing it will be less.” 

“By the time you come back, I’ll have read everything the library has on lyrium. I’ll know how to help you.”

He pulls away from her then, resting his hands on her hips as their eyes meet. “This isn’t your burden to bear.”

The look of pure rage that crosses her face makes Cullen catch his breath. “If you really think that, _fuck you._ I won’t sit idly by and watch you suffer.” She tangles her fingers in his fur collar, holding him still. “I _won’t_.”

Tears spring to her eyes, spilling as she begins to shake anew. “Oh, my darling.” Cullen stands and cups her face, bringing his lips to hers. When he breaks away from her, he kisses her forehead before pulling her against his chest. “I won’t burden you with this.”

She sniffs. “I’m not giving you an option, asshole.”

His laugh is deep, raw with emotions he can’t name. She can’t keep from smiling in response.

“I think you spent too much time with the soldiers on our way to Adamant,” he notes. She shrugs and tries to cuddle closer to him, seeking the heat of his body through his armor.

“You won’t change my mind, Cullen. Let me help you.”

He kisses the top of her head. “Of course. Of course.”


	20. POV: Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It burns too bright; it feels wrong. He wanted it but not like this. Never like this.”

Leliana receives a raven at the Winter Palace and calls an emergency meeting of the advisors. Samson has been tracked to his base in northern Orlais, to the location of an old Tevinter shrine.

Nora decides to go straight there as soon as they finish in Halamshiral. Cullen asks to join her, and she relents. Samson was his friend. He deserves the chance to confront him a final time.

They leave with Solas, Blackwall, and Cole at dawn the day after the ball. 

Josephine begs them to stay for one day longer, but Nora refuses. She’s spent three days already listening to the nobles calling her a dirty Dalish and a savage, and she won’t stay another minute.

Orlais doesn’t deserve to host the Inquisition. She would let it burn.

The journey from Halamshiral to the Shrine of Dumat takes four days of riding through desert sands. The temple stands tall, the only man-made thing that the eye can see.

Banners the same color of the infected lyrium, embroidered with the Sword of Mercy, hang on the outside of the temple, leaving no doubt as to who commands it now. 

Cullen’s heart hammers in his chest, adrenaline beginning to run through him as the battle nears. Portions of the Chant run through his mind unbidden, a reflex after so many years in the Order.

This is what he was meant for. This is why he became a templar.

When they make it closer to the shrine, his stomach sinks. The haze surrounding it isn’t sand blowing in the wind or small campfires.

The whole temple is burning.

“They’ve sacked the temple!” Cullen spits, reining in his horse. The gelding snorts in irritation but obeys, stomping its hooves in response.

Nora stops next to him, pushing herself up in the stirrups to see farther.

Dark columns of smoke are easier to see this close to the temple, exposing the devastation that waits for them inside the walls.

The Inquisitor lets out a rough sigh and urges her horse into a gallop. Her companions follow her, reaching the shrine at almost the same time. They secure their horses a short way from the entrance and move in together, weapons drawn.

Solas whispers a spell and moves one hand in a wide circle. Cullen shivers at the familiar feeling of a barrier spell around him, pushing away the discomfort before he and Blackwall lead their way through the temple’s broken front doors.

Red templars in various states of corruption wait for them. As soon as the Inquisitor’s team breach the walls, they attack.

Solas and Nora hang back, firing bursts of fire and ice that wind between their companions and harm their enemy. Cole disappears immediately, flitting from one enemy to the next, delivering deadly backstabs. 

Blackwall and Cullen draw the attention of the red templars, deflecting blow after blow, dodging the red lyrium laden soldiers and deflecting their weapons to avoid being infected.

When the courtyard is cleared, they move deeper into the temple. The farther they travel into its depths, the more red lyrium grows from the walls. It heats the already warm air, making sweat pour down Cullen’s face, stinging his eyes.

Red lyrium sounds nothing like the lyrium he left behind. Its song is louder, harsher, more thrilling. It makes his bones ache, his stomach churn, his mouth go dry.

If he could embrace these crystals he would. He would stay in this temple for the rest of his days.

“Cullen.”

Nora’s quiet voice and light touch on his arm pull him back to the reality of his situation. He tightens his grip on his sword and rolls his shoulders, nodding once at her.

He can do this. He is strong.

They continue to search the temple for any sign of where Samson is. They find signs that he had been there just hours before. Broken lyrium vials licked clean. Tools, discarded. Letters, a note just for Cullen.

Samson’s tranquil, Maddox, poisoned and dying.

How could Samson have done this? How could Maddox have devoted himself to serving Samson, to serving Corypheus?

The song is _so loud._

Samson isn’t even here. Why has Cullen followed him? This was a mistake.

He stumbles, coughing, and retches into the sand that’s filling the temple.

When he’s finished, he stands and wipes his mouth on the back of his glove. Nora’s mouth is set in a thin line as she whispers to Solas in elven, but Cole is watching Cullen with wide, pale eyes.

If he’d listened to Nora before they left for Orlais, he wouldn’t feel like this. He would be whole with the pure lyrium holding him together. Now the corrupted lyrium sings to him, begging him, bribing him to consume it.

A strong hand wraps around Cullen’s elbow, pulling on him until he follows. Blackwall guides the warrior through the ruins, nearly dragging him along at points as Cullen forgets why he needs to leave.

Blackwall forces Cullen up onto his horse, and Cullen follows him blindly, hands limp on the saddle horn. The other man grasps the horse’s reins, guiding it as they follow Nora and Solas.

Cole hovers on Cullen’s other side, sitting awkwardly on top of his own mount. He keeps his eyes on Cullen’s trembling form, mouth moving silently as he reads Cullen’s desires.

“Being around the red stuff must be worse when you’re a templar,” Blackwall observes, voice gruff.

Cullen blinks dumbly at him and doesn’t reply.

“The song is too loud,” Cole offers. “He can’t hear you.”

They make camp miles away from the temple, quickly setting up tents and starting a fire to cook a simple dinner. Cullen nearly falls off of his horse, drawing the attention of Solas, who crosses to him with a frown.

Blackwall supports Cullen with his arm around his waist, guiding him to sit by the fire. Even Nora stands at that, resting her hands on her hips as she watches the two men tend to the commander.

“It burns too bright; it feels wrong. He wanted it but not like this. Never like this.”

Nora and Solas exchange a long look, communicating without words. Blackwall reacts first, kneeling down to pull Cullen’s armor off, piling it carefully by the fire. Cullen allows himself to be undressed, staring blankly at the flames until Blackwall’s attentions expose a deep red stain on Cullen’s tunic.

“Maker’s fucking balls, why didn’t you say something?” Blackwall’s curse explodes from him and he recoils even as Solas pulls Cullen’s shirt away from the wound.

A gash crosses his lower ribs, following the curve of his torso under his breastplate where he spun away from the red templar’s sword. Solas places his hand on it, ignoring Cullen’s hiss of pain, and lets a healing spell flow.

The wound knits itself back together easily enough, but the scar is an ugly, uneven red color that betrays the extent of the damage.

Solas rocks back on his heels, looking from Cullen’s pale, sweat-covered face to Nora’s wide eyes. “Red lyrium infection has already set in. We must get the commander back to Skyhold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last update before Christmas. I have family stuff to do for a couple of days, so the next update will be on December 26.


	21. POV: Rose

_My darling Rose,_

_We’ve discovered the location of Samson’s base. It is several days north of Halamshiral, and to prevent his escape we are going there immediately. This will extend my absence for several more days, possibly as many as ten._

_I will return to you as soon as possible. Stay safe my love._

_Yours,_

_Cullen_

_\---_

_Nightingale,_

_The lion has been infected. Returning home now._

_Warn the flower._

_N_

_\---_

“Dorian? Dorian!”

The man looks up as Rose barrels into his alcove. She has several books clutched in her arms, pressed against her chest, but instead of her usual curious expression, tears streak across her cheeks.

He stands quickly, abandoning his own book in favor of reaching out for hers. She hands over the old tomes without question, covering her face with her hands as soon as they’re free.

A high pitched whine escapes her throat before Dorian’s hands find her shoulders. He holds her at arm’s length, rubbing circles with his thumbs, waiting for her to collect herself enough to speak.

“You have to help me.” She lets her hands fall to her sides in favor of looking Dorian in the eyes. “They’re bringing Cullen back to Skyhold but he’s been infected.”

“Infected?” Dorian echoes, his fingers tightening their grip.

The little bit of pain focuses her and she straightens her spine. “Red lyrium. He’s still alive, but I won’t be able to save him unless I finish this research, and _I need you to help me_.”

Dorian’s nodding before she finishes her explanation. “Of course, of course. What do you have so far?”

The two mages sit together at one of the nearby tables, both pouring over the books Rose has managed to find on the subject of lyrium and templars. Leliana passes by them, a thin smile as she sees them working tirelessly to save the commander.

If anyone can do it, it will be them.

\---

When the Inquisitor and her party return to Skyhold, it isn’t to the usual fanfare. They slip into the keep under the cloak of night, unannounced per Leliana’s instructions.

“He sounds wrong,” Cole murmurs as soldiers meet them at the gates to take the commander to the clinic. He follows them, intent on helping, but stops when Solas puts a hand on his arm. “He doesn’t want to. It isn’t right.”

Rose is ready for him. She and Ceri wait with Dorian, lyrium potions in hand to restore their mana, as the soldiers carry Cullen into the room.

She immediately falls to her knees next to him, ignoring the stool she set out just for this purpose, and cuts his shirt away from his body, gasping as she sees the extent of the damage.

Cullen is sickly pale, his skin burning with fever. Thick red tendrils reach out from his scar, following the lines of his body towards his heart. 

She allows herself just a moment to grieve before clearing her throat. She looks up at Dorian who settles on the stool beside her with a nod. Ceri settles on the other side of the cot, lower lip caught between her teeth and reaches out to take Dorian’s hand.

He puts his other hand on Rose’s back as she puts both of her hands on the site of Cullen’s injury.

She can hear the dissonant call of the red lyrium immediately. The hair on the back of her neck stands up at the sound and a chill runs down her spine.

She’s never felt anything so wrong in her entire life.

She takes one more shuddering breath before closing her eyes. She draws on her mana, on her spirit, on the mana of Dorian and Ceri flowing through her.

The words she read while Cullen was gone float through her mind as she focuses. Lyrium, taken at high doses over time like templars do, builds up in a body. It changes how the body works, how the blood flows, how the organs do their jobs.

Even after quitting, Cullen still has lyrium inside of him. It clings to him, refusing to leave because it’s become part of him. His body craves more of the liquid to work properly, clamoring for it with all of the weapons at its disposal: nausea, migraines, tremors, body aches, nightmares, cravings.

She and Dorian planned a spell to help purge Cullen’s body of the remains of the lyrium before they got the Inquisitor’s letter.

Now they’re going to use the same spell to purge the _red_ lyrium from his system, praying the whole time that it will react the same way.

Ceri allows Dorian to pull her mana from her, funneling it into Rose with the first part of their spell. He pushes his magic along as well, ensuring that Rose has enough power to continue.

She lets a simple spell wash over Cullen, testing to see the extent of the damage, how much the red lyrium will fight to keep him.

She can feel the way it dug into his tissue, sharp against the edges of her magic. It refuses her, clinging more tightly to him when it feels her pushing.

She grits her teeth and pushes harder, seeking the edges of the infection. She waits as her magic flows deeper into Cullen’s body. The red lyrium has spread farther than she thought, twisting around his organs, crawling towards his heart.

The tendrils become smaller, weaker the longer she follows them. She finds one edge of the infection encircling his right lung, and she growls as she wraps her magic around it.

She pulls harder at the flow of energy coming through Dorian and pushes the extra power into Cullen’s body.

He trembles, sweat standing out on his skin, but she doesn’t see. Her eyes are shut as she searches, pulling on the infection, trying anything she can to remove it from his body. Her fingernails dig into his skin as she tries harder; blood oozes from his new wounds and stains her hands.

The red lyrium she holds with her magic disintegrates under the pressure. It releases his lung, and he draws in a sharp breath, gasping. Rose doesn’t give in. This minor success makes her redouble her efforts, following that tendril to his ribs where crystals threaten to erupt from his skin.

Ceri fumbles for a lyrium potion without letting go of Dorian’s hand. Sweat pours down her skin as her mana depletes dangerously low to power Rose’s spell. She downs a potion quickly before leaning over to hold one to Dorian’s lips. He drinks and grimaces, but nods his thanks at her.

Color briefly returns to Rose’s cheeks as her two friends are able to give her more magical power. She funnels it away from her own body into Cullen’s, freeing first his liver and then his kidney from the red lyrium crystals.

His skin around the scar fades to pink and then to its natural creamy shade. He’s still pale and sweating, the lyrium in his system no long growing but still flowing in his blood.

Rose sways and leans harder against him, drinking the potion that Ceri presses to her lips without stopping to identify it. She must burn the lyrium out of Cullen’s system, red or blue, to keep it from growing and spreading again.

He might be able to heal on his own, the lyrium naturally fading away as it had before, but this is what they created their spell for. She’s been partially healing him for months, and she will not give up the opportunity to see him well once and for all.

The lyrium ignites under her magic, and Cullen screams. Ceri and Dorian’s hands tighten together as they fight to remain at Rose’s side despite the noise. Her mouth drops open in an answering wail as she fights to control the spell despite Cullen’s thrashing.

“Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light.” Ceri’s voice is just a frightened whisper under the pained cries, but she presses her eyes closed and continues praying. “I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder.”

Dorian looks at the Vashoth, surprised to hear the Chant coming from her lips, but he continues with the next verse. If Andraste is real, surely she won’t allow this much pain and suffering to continue in her name.

If anyone deserves divine intervention, it’s Cullen.

“I am not alone. Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see the Light is here.”

“Draw your last breath, my friends. Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, and be forgiven.” Ceri swallows hard when the last verse is out of her mouth, praying that they will see a healed Cullen and not one who has found rest by the Maker.

His screams stop and Rose’s cries fall silent as well. She slumps forward unconscious, head resting against his bare chest.

Dorian releases Ceri’s hand and grabs Rose’s shoulders, pulling her towards him to examine her. She’s breathing shallowly, her face pale, but she’s _alive_.

When Dorian looks up, Ceri’s hand is checking Cullen’s pulse. She meets his eyes with her teary ones and nods slowly.

“He is alive. And no longer infected.”

Dorian’s strength leaves him and he presses his forehead against the back of Rose’s head. She nearly killed herself, but she saved him.

“Let her sleep on the other cot,” Ceri suggests. “And go back to your rooms. I’ll keep watch.”

“Are you sure?” Dorian asks, but he’s already moving to obey, lifting Rose just enough to let her stretch out on the small room’s second cot. Ceri nods and makes a shooing motion, one that Dorian is only too happy to obey.

\---

Rose’s whole body aches when she wakes up. She stares up at the unfamiliar ceiling for several breaths, trying to remember what happened the day before.

When memories of red lyrium growing within Cullen surface, she leaps to her feet. Cullen is already awake, sitting up on the other side of the room with a mug of tea in his hand. He immediately puts the tea down and holds his arms out for her, and she falls into them without a second thought.

“Cullen? Cullen? You’re alive.” Her words are thick with her tears, and Cullen pulls her tight against his chest. He strokes her hair, murmuring soft nothings to her until her tears are spent and she’s laying limp in his arms. “You almost died.”

“How did you do it?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “I was as good as dead, and you saved me.”

She pulls away just enough to kiss him, hard, then rest her forehead against his. “Seekers can burn the blood of templars,” she murmurs. “Turns out it isn’t the blood that burns, it’s the lyrium. It strips their powers, but it hurts like nothing else. Dorian and Ceri helped give me enough power to burn the red lyrium and the blue out of your body.”

“Ceri told me you collapsed after and not to disturb you.” Cullen’s arms are around Rose’s body, clutching her almost to the point of pain. She doesn’t mind.

“You should have woken me up. How do you feel?”

Cullen pauses to consider. “Better than I have in months.”

“Oh, thank the Maker.” Rose surges forward and wraps her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck. His arms tighten around her too, rocking her back and forth as more tears escape her.

When she calms, she pulls away to look into his amber eyes. “Don’t you ever fucking do that again,” she orders. “If you’re going anywhere where there are red templars, I’m going with you.”

His eyes dance. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, my darling,” he soothes. “For now, we’re under orders to rest. Will you sleep with me?”

At her nod, they adjust to squeeze together on the small cot. He keeps one arm firmly around her and she laces her fingers with his.

“I love you, Cullen.”

He presses a kiss to the back of her neck. “And I love you.”


	22. POV: Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit sexual content.

Rose’s insistence on not being left behind the next time Cullen left Skyhold on any errand that could possibly prove dangerous is directly responsible for her accompanying the Inquisition’s army to the Arbor Wilds. She chose different mages to accompany her this time, letting those who were also at Adamant rest.

But she wasn’t about to let Cullen out of her sight again.

The journey from Skyhold to the specified location in the Arbor Wilds takes a week of marching south through Orlais. Though Rose is fully expecting the weather there to be frozen, she’s pleasantly surprised that the Wilds are actually fairly warm. No snow is on the ground, and she’s never been happier to be away from Skyhold.

She hadn’t realized how much she misses the _sun_.

The army sets up and spreads out as its allies arrive. The Orlesian army, what’s left of the Grey Wardens, the Chargers, even the Blades of Hessarian are ready to stop Corypheus before he finds whatever he’s searching for.

Before the assault begins, Cullen finds Rose where she’s organizing the other healers. A large tent stands ready to house the soldiers who will be injured in the upcoming battle, and Rose stands in the very center, hands on her hips, watching the flurry of activity.

When she sees Cullen, her tense expression melts into a smile. She crosses the tent to meet him, hands reaching for him even before she arrives.

He takes her hand in his and guides her away, seeking a moment of privacy before the battle. They find it outside of the tent, behind a small stand of trees that blocks their view of the army.

Cullen cups her face with his free hand, thumb stroking across her cheek. She gazes up at him, green eyes meeting amber, and stretches up on her tiptoes to encourage him to kiss her.

He gives in, wrapping his arms around her body to lift her face to his. She squeaks and laughs, clutching his fur collar to hold herself steady as their lips meet. His grip tightens, almost crushing her, but she just sighs against his lips and tightens her fingers.

“Promise that you’ll stay safe,” Cullen whispers as soon as their lips separate. 

She pushes forward and brushes her nose against his. “Of course, but I’m more worried about you.” Her face tightens at her admission, a little moisture coming to her eyes, but she doesn’t cry.

Cullen sets her down so he can smooth her hair away from her face. 

“I won’t let anything keep me from you.” Cullen’s voice is low, deadly serious, and it sends a shiver through her. She presses closer again and puts her hand on the back of his neck to pull his face down to hers.

This kiss has more heat, holding a promise that she’ll fulfill on his return. She loops her fingers into the gaps in his armor, pressing their bodies together, sliding their tongues together until he has to break away with a groan.

“Promise you’ll come back?”

Cullen kisses the top of her head. “I promise. I love you.”

She nods. “I love you.”

One final kiss and then he’s gone, back to lead his troops.

\---

The Inquisition army expected to fight through red templars to reach their goal, but the added complication of an army of elves makes things more difficult. Rose keeps busy, tending to the more seriously wounded and dispensing health and regeneration potions to everyone else. Bryn stays at her side, feeding her lyrium potions as necessary, slowly gaining more confidence through the battle to heal some soldiers himself.

When the dragon flies overhead, the entire camp stills. Even the soldier Rose is patching up--a young man, several arrows in his legs--looks up to stare at the creature. Its roar chills Rose to the bone, but she forces herself to ignore it, to turn back to her patient.

She can’t afford to think about where it’s flying: deeper into the forest, towards the temple, exactly where Cullen is fighting.

He promised to come back.

He promised he’d be safe.

\---

The battle is over.

The Inquisitor and her companions are gone, disappeared through an eluvian.

Corypheus and his dragon are still alive, but Samson has been captured and is already being taken to Skyhold for judgment.

As soon as the troops are settled and a plan for returning with the army is in place, Cullen and the Inquisitor’s other advisors are going to return to Skyhold alone, ahead of the army, to plan the next stage of attack.

Rose makes a list of those still injured, who need more healing before they can be allowed to march. The list is shorter than she had thought, and she’s grateful for it.

When she leaves the makeshift clinic late, very late, Cullen is waiting for her by the fire. He stands when he sees her, hands already reaching out to pull her closer.

She steps into his arms and rests her head against his breastplate. He pulls his gloves off and runs one bare hand into her hair, rocking gently back and forth.

“You’re leaving in the morning?” At his nod, she pulls away, taking his hand in hers to lead him away from the camp. He follows along behind her, silent, until she finally stops walking in the middle of a small clearing.

He glances around, a smile growing on his face despite his exhaustion. “You know I have my own tent?”

Rose stretches up on her toes and wraps her arms around Cullen’s neck, draping herself against him. He tries to kiss her, but she keeps her lips just out of reach. “Your tent that’s exactly in the middle of all the other soldiers? That tent?”

Cullen leans his head back and laughs, remembering at the last moment to muffle the sound to avoid alerting any scouts to their presence. When he looks back at her, she captures his lips with hers, swallowing whatever else he has to say.

His hands come to rest on her ass, pulling her closer. He catches her lip between his teeth, gently tugging, and she sighs against him.

Despite their exhaustion from a week’s march and a day of fighting and healing, their kisses quickly heat until she can feel the insistent press of his cock even through the thick leather of his trousers.

“Cullen?”

“Yes?” 

She shifts her legs until one thigh presses against him, making his breath catch in throat. “I love you.” She pushes against him again and presses a kiss to the hollow of his throat. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

She moves again, trailing one hand down his breastplate until she can hook her fingers into his belt, quickly working it free.

His hand catches hers, threading their fingers together before she can do anymore.

“We should head back to camp,” he murmurs, earning himself a frown. “It isn’t... Rose, we’re in the middle of the _woods_.”

She blinks up at him for a moment before figuring out what to say. “I was worried about you.” She watches as he clenches his jaw and draws in a ragged breath. “You’re going back to Skyhold tomorrow, and I’ll be lonely without you. I just want something to remember you by when I’m all alone in my bedroll at night...”

She kisses his neck again, brushing her lips over his skin, and smirks as she feels him shudder under her touch. After only a moment of hesitation, Cullen takes her hand and presses it against the bulge in his trousers. She groans, just barely squeezing his cock in appreciation before loosening the trouser ties.

Rose drops to her knees before him, pulling him free immediately. She looks up at him as she licks her lips, watching the way his cheeks flush. His hand strokes her cheek as she turns her attention back to her desired task and she licks her lips again before wrapping her right hand around the base of him.

She holds his cock steady as she leans in to brush her tongue across the little bead of liquid waiting for her. She sighs as the bitter taste hits her tongue and moves closer, pulling him into her mouth inch by inch, teasing them both.

His breath catches as her tongue swirls around his tip, one more moment of teasing before she swallows him down. He disappears into her throat as her nose hits the coarse golden curls at the base. 

Done teasing now, she moves swiftly, bobbing along his length as she swirls her tongue around him. She presses her thighs together as she listens to the little grunts he can’t contain, the sharp gasps and murmurs that might be her name if he was louder.

Determined to hear her name on his lips, she hollows her cheeks and sucks, swallowing him down, moving faster along his swollen length. His hips jerk under her attentions, little thrusts to show her that his control is almost gone.

His hand slips into her hair, guiding her as his pleasure builds, and he tries to pull her away, tries to warn her, but she digs her fingers into his thighs and only tightens her hold on him as her name tumbles from his lips and he spends himself on her tongue.

When he relaxes, she pulls away and swallows before wiping at her wet lips with her sleeve. She tucks Cullen back into his trousers before she stands, one hand on his stomach, reaching up for a kiss that he eagerly gives her.

He reaches down to grab her thighs and lifts her easily to wrap her legs around his waist. She giggles, quietly, grasping his collar to hold herself steady. “Come back to Skyhold with me.”

She tilts her head to the side and studies his face. “Tomorrow?”

He nods. “Let someone else lead the healers, and come back with us instead of with the army. It will be a hard ride, but I can find you a horse and I don’t want to have to wait.”

She blinks once before a slow smile creeps across her face. “A hard ride, hmm?” She leans in to nip at his lower lip even as he rolls his eyes and blushes slightly. “I think I can handle that.”

“Rose,” he chides gently, even as he mirrors her smile.

She shrugs, unapologetic. “Are you sure it’s okay if I go with you? I don’t want to overstep. I’m just a--”

“You aren’t ‘just’ anything, Rose.” Cullen’s voice is firm, and she blushes at his words. “If I want you to come, you can come. If you want to stay behind--”

“That’s not what I said.” She cuts him off with a kiss then brushes her nose against his. “If we’re having an early start tomorrow, I suppose we _should_ go to bed, then.”

Cullen’s eyes light up at her words, and he leans in to capture her mouth for another kiss. “As my lady commands.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not... entirely satisfied with this chapter, but I've been over it 100 times and can't figure out where to make changes. It's a short kind of filler chapter to take us from the Arbor Wilds to Doom Upon All The World. Enjoy the fluff.

“It’s so nice out here.”

Cullen spares a glance at Rose, looking at her over his steepled fingers. She circles the table where he’s playing chess with Keiran to stand behind him and rests her hand lightly on the back of his neck.

She can feel when he relaxes under her touch, the tension draining out of his shoulders. A little smile lights his face as he reaches forward and moves his rook slightly closer to Keiran’s king.

Keiran narrows his eyes as he studies the board, then his face relaxes before he moves his bishop to capture the rook. Rose runs her fingers into the curls at the nape of Cullen’s neck, petting him softly.

“How are you today, Keiran?” Rose rests her hip against Cullen’s shoulder, tugging lightly on his curls, thoroughly distracting him from the game. He frowns.

The boy looks up at her with wide, serious eyes. “I’m very well, Healer Wedgwood. How are you?”

Rose clears her throat and forces herself not to look away from him. _He’s just a child_. “I’m... fine, thank you. Are you about to win?”

Keiran looks back down at the chessboard, studying Cullen’s last move. He nods. “Ser Cullen’s been letting me win, so I’ll have him in checkmate in a few more moves.”

Cullen makes a quiet choking sound of surprise that turns into a chuckle. He looks up at Rose, catching her smirk, then turns back to Keiran. “Noticed that, did you?”

Keiran just grins and props his chin in his hands. His little feet can’t reach the floor from his chair, and he swings his legs gently back and forth.

Rose waits patiently, playing with Cullen’s hair until Keiran finally puts Cullen in checkmate. The little boy beams up at Cullen despite knowing he should have lost, and quickly scampers away to find his mother.

Cullen pushes his chair back from the table and pulls Rose into his lap. She drapes her legs over his and rests her forehead against his temple. He wraps his arms around her waist and hums happily when she kisses his cheek.

“Why don’t you ever let me win when we play chess?” she demands, the smile clear in her voice.

“You’re a bit older than Keiran,” Cullen points out. “And he’s still learning.”

“ _I’m_ still learning.”

“You’ve been playing chess for at _least_ ten years. There’s no way you’re still learning.” Rose sniffs and moves to stand, but Cullen’s arms tighten around her, holding her in place. “Do you _really_ want me to let you win?”

A heavy sigh is his only answer, and he has to fight to keep from laughing.

“Do you... want to play now?”

“I’m quite content, thank you.”

Cullen glances around the nearly empty gardens and relaxes slightly. Rose’s fingers find their way back to his hair and coax him into almost-sleepiness.

“How much longer until the army comes back?”

“The last messenger bird I received said they’re still a week away.”

Rose rests her head on Cullen’s shoulder and snuggles closer to him. Skyhold’s gardens really aren’t the place for this, but Cullen doesn’t seem to mind, and they _are_ alone. “They don’t seem to be in a hurry to return.”

“When they do, I won’t be able to sit in the garden with you in my lap in the middle of the day, so I can’t say I want them to.” Rose can hear the smile in Cullen’s voice as his arms hold her tighter, squeezing for just a moment. 

She traces the grooves on his breastplate. “We won’t be at war forever,” she says, finally. “And then you’ll be able to hold me whenever you want.”

Cullen’s hand rub slow circles over Rose’s back. “That’s true,” he responds, voice low. He adjusts slightly in the chair, growing more comfortable. “I haven’t thought much about that, before.”

“You haven’t thought about what? Holding me?”

“No. I mean, yes, I have. But I meant--” Rose’s laughter cuts him off and he sighs heavily. “I meant before you, I didn’t think much about what would happen when Corypheus is defeated. When the Inquisition is disbanded.”

Silence stretches between them. “And now?” she asks, finally, biting on the inside of her lip.

His arms tighten around her. “Now it’s almost all I can think of. It seems... unlikely that the Circles will reform, so you wouldn’t have to leave. Unless, ah, unless you want to, that is.” He clears his throat and pushes forward. “I have family in South Reach. I-- _we_ could buy some land down there, start a farm or, or work with templars who want to leave the Order.” Another pause, then more quietly: “We could start a family. Just be together apart from all this.”

She lets that idea hang between them for a long moment, considering its implications. “You want a family? Children?”

Cullen doesn’t recognize the tone in Rose’s voice, so he grabs her hand that’s still tracing over his armor and pulls it to his mouth to kiss her palm. “Templars usually don’t marry and almost never have children, but...” he hesitates, thinking, and kisses her knuckles before releasing her hand. “You don’t want any?”

She chews on her lips again as she considers her answer. “I’ve never thought about it.”

“Never?”

Cullen’s voice is so incredulous that Rose has to stifle a laugh despite the tension growing in her chest. “Well, I am a mage. That wasn’t really an option until recently.”

“Oh.” Cullen’s voice is hard and he clutches her tighter. “Of course.”

“A farm might be nice though,” she suggests, placatingly. She closes her eyes to consider it, picturing a little cabin similar to the one she stayed in before she went to Haven. She furrows her brow and adds a room with two beds for two little curly-haired boys and a dog asleep between them.

She hums quietly in contentment, the warmth of the sun and Cullen’s body lulling her to sleep. With no Circles, _she_ could teach a mage child how to control their magic and how to resist demons. No templars would come to take a babe away from her breast, never to be seen again.

It’s easier to see Cullen with a child than it is to see herself with one, but the image of Cullen clutching an infant to his chest is making her feel warm.

“I’ve never even held a baby.”

Cullen is silent for a long moment as he considers her words, then he smiles slightly and kisses the top of her head. “My sister has some kids I’m sure she’d let you practice on.”

“Can we visit them? When this is all over?” She sits up to look him in the eyes so he’ll understand that she’s serious. They’ve been through a lot, both in the last year with the Inquisition and when they were at Kinloch together. It feels strange to be talking about the future when Corypheus still threatens Thedas, but surely...

Cullen smiles and presses his lips to hers before answering. “Of course. When this is all over.”

Rose leans forward to capture another kiss when shuffling footsteps indicate someone is approaching. She sits up as though she’s about to stand, but Cullen holds her tight as a messenger appears before them.

The messenger glances from Cullen to Rose and back again, face heating slightly. “Commander, Sister Leliana needs you in the War Room at once.” The messenger bounces on the balls of his feet as though unable to hold something back as Cullen and Rose both stand. “Warden Blackwall has disappeared, ser!”

Cullen sets his jaw and glances back at Rose. “I’ll find you as soon as I’m free,” he promises and kisses her cheek. He straightens his spine and strides past the messenger on his way to the war room, leaving Rose alone in the gardens.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a brief mention of past suicidal thoughts in the second paragraph.

Cullen’s irritation at having to travel to Val Royeaux with the Inquisitor to track Blackwall down isn’t doing anything to dampen Rose’s excitement at the same prospect. With her behavior after Adamant forgiven if not entirely forgotten, Nora allows her to tag along at Cullen’s request in case Blackwall needs her talents.

It was only a little over a year ago that she was standing in Irving’s office, staring out the thin little window, wishing she could jump and get it over with. The idea of waking up every day for the next forty-odd years in the same bed and seeing the same people and never being allowed privacy or an escape from the memories that lurked around every door... 

And now here she is, riding a lovely mare next to the first man she ever loved--even if he didn’t know it at the time--marveling at the blossoming flowers on her way to Val Royeaux. Even if it is in Orlais, it’s still going to be a beautiful city and the biggest one she’s ever seen.

The future is still a terrifying prospect, but now that she has choices... it’s less frightening, somehow, and more _exciting_. 

She looks over at Cullen, glaring in the direction of Val Royeaux from the top of his own horse, and enjoys the familiar warmth that blooms in her chest whenever she looks at him. It’s comforting to have him so close beside her, to know that he’s thinking of their future together even if she can’t fathom it yet.

For her, it’s enough to just be together. It’s easy to imagine that they’re on this trip together because they want to be, not because they’re on Inquisition business. 

It’s harder to ignore Nora’s stormy attitude or the way Bull and Dorian keep making jokes at each other’s expense. 

Rose is obviously the only one enjoying this trip, but she isn’t sure what to do about it.

\---

When Nora comes storming out of the Val Royeaux dungeon, ice already forming on her fingertips, Rose flinches away. Cullen squares his shoulders and stands straighter, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

Leliana’s report on Blackwall--now Thom Ranier--only serves to make Nora more furious.

She crumples it, freezing the paper in her shaking fingers, and turns her glare on Cullen. “She failed,” Nora snaps, thrusting the ruined letter back into his hands. “She should have known.”

Cullen’s jaw clenches for a moment before he’s able to calmly defend their spymaster.

Nora doesn’t care.

“What do we do now? Blackwall--” Cullen sighs softly and corrects himself. “Ranier has accepted his fate. But we don’t have to. We have resources.”

Rose can see the way Cullen’s back straightens at his words, like it’s painful just suggesting breaking Blackwall out of prison. It probably is, knowing what he did, how he killed that family. Rose bites her lip as Nora considers.

It’s only a moment before Nora shakes her head. “No.” Her voice is cold, colder than the frost still dripping from her fingertips. Cullen glances at the magic and shifts on his feet, letting his hands rest on the pommel of his sword. “He’s a liar and a murderer. He can rot here. Let the Orlesians have him.” She turns on her heel and is out the door before Cullen can say anything else.

Rose joins Cullen in the middle of the room from where she was hovering out of Nora’s sight. She slips her hand into his and lets him pull her against him and press a kiss to the top of her head.

“You’re not really going to leave him here, are you?” Her voice is quiet, hesitant, like she isn’t sure she should be offering her opinion. “I know they’ve been... _involved_. I think she’ll regret it.”

Cullen blinks down at her in surprise. “Blackwall and the Inquisitor? I thought she was with Solas.”

Rose shakes her head and tries to hide her grin at Cullen’s confusion. “Not for some time, but that doesn’t really matter right now.”

“No. I suppose it doesn’t.” Cullen glances over his shoulder at the guards standing around the room and sighs heavily. He pulls Rose along behind him by her hand and they slip back out into the rainy market of Val Royeaux.

\---

Cullen’s just finished arranging for Blackwall’s extradition from Val Royeaux with Leliana when Nora and Morrigan slink into the War Room. They’ve just returned from chasing Keiran into the eluvian, apparently, and whatever they saw has shaken them up immeasurably. 

Leliana doesn’t mention their plan for rescuing Blackwall, and neither does Cullen. Nora still seems angry, a sharp word always on the tip of her tongue. Even Josephine starts looking a little uncomfortable before too long, not sure what to do with an Inquisitor who is so obviously unhappy.

Maybe Rose was right about the Inquisitor’s relationship with Blackwall. No one else is so angry with him.

They’re just discussing how far away the army still is--two or three days, at Leliana’s best estimate--when the whole world shakes. Nora’s hand snaps and crackles as the anchor screams to life.

She hisses in pain as green light starts to filter in through the windows, signaling that Cullen’s worst fear has come to pass.

The Breach has been reopened.

Nora must go face Corypheus without the support of the army, without Blackwall at her side, without even Solas to pick her up if she falls.

She and Morrigan exchange a glance and turn to leave without saying goodbye.

\---

Rose is standing just outside the clinic, eyes locked on the Breach, when Cullen finds her. She doesn’t look at him, just reaches out one arm for him to stand by her side, and he obeys immediately.

“What’s going to happen?” her voice is quiet, shaky, and he tightens his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. She shifts in his grasp, turning until she can still see the Breach, and makes a quiet noise of fear that makes him run one hand up to cup the back of her head. 

“The Inquisitor is going to the temple to face Corypheus.” Cullen’s tone matches hers, careful to keep his words from spreading too far. No one looks at him.

A silence falls between them for a few minutes before Rose works up the courage to ask her next question.

“What if they’re not strong enough?” Just saying the possibility out loud makes her start to tremble, and she turns to hide her face in Cullen’s fur collar. He strokes his fingers through her hair and rocks gently on his feet. “What if--what if she c-can’t s-seal the--”

“She will.” Cullen cuts Rose off, unable to listen to the return of her stammer. It’s been so long since she’s been nervous enough to struggle with it that he can’t bear to hear it now. “Andraste has protected her this long, She won’t let her down now.”

“Mmm.” Rose’s response is non-committal, not sure if she believes him but unwilling to argue about theology. Cullen hears her hesitation and clutches her tighter.

After a moment Cullen sighs and turns towards the clinic behind him. His arms tighten around Rose’s torso, lifting her off of her feet and carrying her bodily through the door. She giggles helplessly against him, collapsing into a heap when he drops her onto her desk chair.

“Can you stay with me?” Her hand reaches out and captures his, twining their fingers together automatically.

He smiles down at her and sinks into one of the other chairs, stretching out his legs between them. “Of course. Of course.”

\---

They know the Inquisition is victorious when the Breach seals.

Most people begin celebrating right away, drinking and proving to each other that they’re still alive, slinking into the clinic the following morning for whatever herbs they need.

Rose doesn’t celebrate yet. Cullen and the other advisors don’t either.

They wait, barely breathing, for the Inquisitor to return.

\---

They see Bull first. He is the tallest, after all, but he’s also walking further ahead than everyone else. His head is down, a frown on his face even with Dorian walking at his side.

Cassandra and Varric are next, walking just too close together, followed by an unusually quiet Sera. Vivienne is there, looking as regal as always, with Cole looking at everyone with wide eyes.

Solas isn’t with them.

Neither is Nora.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter left! Look for it on January 3.


	25. Chapter 25

The celebration in the great hall is quieter than it should be. There’s drinking and feasting and even some dancing to Maryden’s singing, but it’s too _quiet._

Everyone is feeling the loss of Nora and Solas. They’re presumed dead, but no announcement has been made. No one has found their bodies. Cassandra and Bull were in the temple when it lifted too, but _they_ survived.

Leliana is missing from the celebration. When Rose passes through the rotunda, she can see birds flying out of the rookery as fast as Leliana can write letters. Rose bites the inside of her lip, trying to ignore Solas’ conspicuous absence and the half-finished fresco, and pushes through to Cullen’s office.

Cassandra’s already in there, arms crossed over her chest, staring at Cullen. She glares at Rose when she pushes through the door, but her gaze softens after a moment and she looks back at Cullen.

“We’ll meet tomorrow to finish discussing this,” Cassandra says, voice level. Cullen nods once and she turns to leave, sparing a grim smile for Rose on her way past.

With Cassandra gone, Cullen sinks into his seat and covers his face with his hands. Rose is at his side at once to push a healing spell through him, her hands on the back of his neck, and he hums quietly under her touch as his headache eases.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you,” he murmurs, earning himself a smile from the mage standing at his side.

“Was it something good or something terrible?”

Cullen opens his eyes and looks up at her, his expression completely serious, and her breath catches in her throat. He stands slowly and brushes the hair that’s escaped from her braid back behind her ears. She finds herself blushing under the intensity of his gaze, wanting to look away but unable to.

He leans down and kisses the center of her forehead. “You are the best thing,” he kisses her nose, “that’s ever happened to me,” he kisses her lips, finally, just a passing touch, “in my life.”

Rose does avert her eyes then, looking away toward his office door, but he doesn’t release her face. “I don’t know what...” His words escape him and he kisses her again, more firmly this time.

She responds to his attentions, stretching up on her toes to press her face closer to his. His hands slide down her neck and over her shoulders, then down her arms to hold her hands. She laces their fingers together and suppresses the shiver that rolls through her body under his touch.

She’ll never get used to this. The way his calloused fingers feel under hers or on her skin, how soft his lips are in comparison, the tiny moan that he can’t contain when she runs her tongue over his scar.

His lips press hard against hers, more insistent as his hands tug her body closer to his. She steps into him without hesitation, heat already building inside of her. She pulls her hands from his so she can wrap her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his.

She breaks their kiss and takes a moment to appreciate the pink color in his cheeks before speaking. “Just once,” she whispers, “I’d like to start kissing you when you’re already out of your armor.”

He smiles, the scarred corner of his mouth lifting slightly higher in the way that always makes her smile back at him. “If that’s all you wanted, you should have said so.” He releases her and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Go upstairs, then, and I’ll come up in a minute.”

She steps back and smiles up at him before turning to obey. He watches her climb the ladder before he begins removing his armor and carefully placing it on the armor stand.

When he finds his way up to meet Rose, she’s leaning against the crumbling section of the tower, looking out at the moonlit landscape outside Skyhold. She shivers slightly as he walks up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on the top of her head.

“What happens now?” She presses back against him, melting into his embrace, and he rocks slightly from side to side.

Silence stretches between them, but it’s a comfortable one. Cullen runs his hands over Rose’s arms in a way that soothes her thoughts. By the time he takes a deep breath to speak, she’s almost forgotten her question.

“I wanted to take you to visit my family,” he says, “in South Reach. I don’t know when we’ll be able to get away now. With the Inquisitor missing.” Rose makes a quiet humming noise but doesn’t respond, so Cullen presses on: “Mia keeps asking when she’ll get to meet you.”

Rose freezes, just for a moment, but Cullen feels it and his heart sinks in response. “Do you not, uh... are you not interested? In meeting them?”

“Oh!” Rose turns around and reaches up to loop her arms around his neck. She runs her fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and presses against him. His hands settle back on her hips automatically, but she can see the way his jaw is starting to tense. “No, it isn’t that. I, I just--” she stops as her cheeks heat up and she looks away from him. “You told them about me? A-About what I am?”

Cullen’s face relaxes immediately, a little smile replacing the growing grimace. “Of course. I think she’s more excited to meet ‘the woman who saved her brother’ than she is to see me again.”

Rose’s laugh comes out as a snort and she buries her face in his chest. He grips her a little tighter, pulling her body against his, and she sighs at the contact.

“Rosalie and Branson are excited to meet you too,” he continues, voice taking on a coaxing quality as though trying to convince her this is a good idea. “I wanted us to go soon, but now...” he sighs again and kisses the top of her head.

“Well.” Rose’s voice sounds loud in the silence and she immediately lowers it to a whisper. “We’ll go as soon as the Inquisition can spare you. Is that okay?” She steps away from him, leaning against the wall, and smooths her hands up his chest. Her fingers stop to play with the loose ties at the top of his tunic. When he nods, she adds, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Cullen bends down to rest his forehead against hers. “You promise.”

She tilts her head up until she can brush their lips together. “Mmm. I do.”

His eyes light up at that and he moves immediately to scoop her into his arms. She laughs and wraps her arms around his neck until he reaches the bed and dumps her onto it. He pulls his tunic off without hesitation and lets it fall to the floor before he joins her, covering her immediately with his body.

He kisses her firmly, molding his body against hers, moving his lips along her exposed throat to her ear. She shudders under his attentions and tilts her hips up to meet his, grinding against him as he kisses down to where her tunic has slipped over her shoulder.

He pushes the fabric farther out of his way, kissing along her collarbone until he has to sit up to pull her shirt off too. She arches up to help him, then reaches between them to untie her breast band without prompting.

Cullen’s face lights up with a smile and as he ducks his head back down she hears him murmur, “Maker’s breath, you’re beautiful.”

She sighs happily, running her fingers into his curls to guide him as he pulls one pink nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue until it’s hardened into a peak under his attention. He kisses the valley between her breasts before taking her neglected nipple into his mouth and using his free hand to slide her leggings over her hips and down her thighs until she can kick her legs free of the leather.

Rose squirms under him, holding back a giggle as his lips brush over her ribs. He glances up at her, a smirk twisting his lips, and deliberately repeats the motion until she lets out a breathy laugh and sits up to push him over.

He lands on his back, hands resting on her hips as she settles over him. She sits up slowly, arching her back and grinding down against him until his eyes drop shut.

“You shouldn’t tease me,” she admonishes gently, pushing up on her knees and leaning down onto her hands until the end of her braid brushes against his exposed shoulder. He opens his eyes and meets her gaze, smiling up at her even as his breath catches.

“I shouldn’t?”

She shakes her head and brushes her nose against his. He tilts his face up for a kiss, but she stays just out of his reach until he huffs in irritation. He tightens his hold on her hips and yanks her down as he thrusts up, pressing his hardened cock against her core as he finally captures her lips with his.

He swallows her surprised moan, grinning against her lips at the sounds she makes. If he could only spend the rest of his life coaxing those sounds out of her...

His face warms at the thought, lips twisting into another smile that she mirrors as she sits up again, breaking their kiss.

“Something funny?” she sits up again, deliberately grinding against him as she does. Cullen shakes his head but the smile stays on his face as he runs his hands over her soft thighs, massaging softly. “You sure?”

“Rose,” he grunts, fingers gripping her tighter when she settles her weight more firmly on his hips, using him to pleasure herself. The smile is finally gone from his face, replaced by lightly parted lips and heavy-set eyes. She twists her hips just right and lets her head fall back with her moan. “I thought we weren’t teasing.”

She looks back down at him and tilts her head to the side. “I said _you_ shouldn’t tease. I didn’t say anything about _me_.”

Her movements draw a groan from him, and she admires the way the muscles of his arm and chest flex with restraint. Even his fingers relax their grip, resting lightly on her thighs instead.

“Rose,” he murmurs, just loud enough to ensure he has her full attention. “Please.”

She smiles and gives in, moving just far enough to unlace his trousers and pull his cock free. She takes him in her hand, stroking him with light fingers until his eyes squeeze closed and his hips thrust towards her.

His eyes pop back open when she moves over him again, watching with rapt attention as she guides him into her wet heat. She sinks down onto him in one slow, smooth motion until he’s hilted inside of her.

The only sounds that escape them are gentle sighs as they grow used to the sensations. She leans forward, planting her hands firmly on either side of his head before she begins to move her hips in small, teasing circles.

Cullen’s hands slide up her thighs, over her ass and hips to her back before sliding back down again. He draws ragged breaths in through parted lips as he watches her move atop him, gooseflesh and sweat breaking out simultaneously across his arms and chest as she bends further to rest her forehead against his.

They move together, matching each other’s slow thrusts. Occasionally one will reach for the other’s mouth to let their lips and tongues tangle together in mind-numbing kisses.

She whimpers as her orgasm hovers just out of reach, taunting her. She braces her hands against the headboard and pushes harder against him, pulling a growl from deep in his chest.

He flips them then, finally, settling between her legs with his arms cradling her head. She smiles up at him and he kisses her firmly, stealing her breath before he begins to move inside of her.

His thrusts are harder now, angled properly to make her call for him. She does, his name escaping her lips in a whisper as her nails dig into his back. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, clenching his jaw, waiting, waiting…

She comes without a sound, her breath catching in her throat and her body clenching tightly around Cullen’s. He follows her immediately, burying himself inside of her as deep as he can as he spills himself. A groan escapes him, vibrating through his chest and into hers.

When she relaxes, he lets himself lay on top of her, his weight resting more on her chest than on his elbows now. She rubs her hands over his back, soothing trembling muscles as he comes back to himself.

After he calms, he sits up more, hovering over her on the bed. She pries her eyes open and meets his gaze with a soft, lazy smile.

“I love you,” she says, voice just a whisper.

He opens his mouth to respond in kind, to tell her how deeply he loves her in return, except… “Marry me.”

Rose’s body freezes even as her eyes widen. “What?”

Cullen closes his eyes with a groan and lowers his face to bury it in the crook of her neck. She runs her fingers into his hair, stroking him gently, reassuring, before wiggling out from under him. She sits up, reaching out to grasp his chin until he finally looks back at her.

“Cullen.”

“I'm sorry,” he sighs, face heating up as he moves to sit next to her. He grabs the rumpled blankets and pulls them over his lap, hiding his nakedness from her. “I shouldn't have… I mean, I thought about asking you, but I wanted to make it special. I shouldn't have just… said it like that.”

He hangs his head and rubs the back of his neck, embarrassment written in every line of his body. Rose cants her head to the side as she considers him, hands starting to shake.

“Cullen?” At her gentle, questioning voice, Cullen finally meets her eyes again and sees that they're beginning to fill with tears. “Ask me again.”

His mouth hangs open for a moment before he manages, “What?”

She edges closer on the bed, leaning towards him. “Ask me. Again.”

Another moment of silence passes between them as her words register in his mind. A smile creeps its way across his face as he takes her hand in his, lacing their fingers together and running his thumb over her knuckles.

“Rose, I love you. I want to be yours forever. Will you marry me? Be my wife?”

A tear escapes Rose’s eye as she listens to his words. When he pauses to hear her answer, she's forgotten how to speak and settles for wrapping both arms around his neck and kissing him soundly, over and over until he starts to laugh.

“Is that a yes?”

She presses her face against his neck. “Are we even allowed to? I'm a mage; I thought--”

“Leliana had been made Divine,” Cullen interrupts. “She's accepted the appointment and the official announcement will be soon. She…” he hesitates, searching for the right words, words that would have terrified him only a year ago. “She's going to change things. If you want to, you can be my wife.” He strokes his hand over her bare back, waiting for her to speak again. His heart stops beating and sticks in his throat as he waits for her to make her decision.

When she sits up, he lets her pull away until she grabs his hands in hers. “Cullen,” she breathes, and Cullen’s heart starts beating again even as they both begin to smile. “I would love to. Yes. The answer is yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this, come over to [tumblr](http://ma-sulevin.tumblr.com) and we can talk about it :)


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